


Bite Your Tongue

by Avaaricious



Series: Meet-Ugly [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Retail, Bucky swears a lot, Dating, First Dates, First Meetings, M/M, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, The opposite of meet-cute, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-16 08:08:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 34,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3480719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avaaricious/pseuds/Avaaricious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AKA the "I work at a department store and if you take out and unfold a shirt and then leave it one more time I'm going to stuff it down your throat" AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go again... This one didn't get drafted as much, so if you see any errors, please don't hesitate to let me know. I'd like to correct them. 
> 
> This was sooo much fun to write. But I have taken much artistic license with certain stores, practices, and job titles. So don't read too much into that. Just sit back and (hopefully) enjoy. Please feel free to leave me comments, man I'd love that. Thank you to everyone who responded to 'Expressive Force', as well! It was such a wonderful surprise to get that response! <3
> 
> Thank you once again to Sarah who is my beta saviour.

Bucky is having a fucking shitty day.

 

Well actually, he'd really been set up to fail the night before when he'd been so damned tired that he'd fallen into bed and crashed out without setting his alarm.

 

Waking up with a start at 06:45am when he needs to be out the door at 07:00 is not the greatest way to start the day, but at least his internal chronometer has given him just enough time to get dressed, brush his teeth and rush out before it is too late.

 

Sharon is waiting for him on the curb, just about to ilean on her car horn when he stumbles out, tie flying behind him, suit jacket over his arm.

 

"You look like you just rolled out of bed," she comments as he piles into the passenger seat. Sharon, of course, has her long blonde hair in an elegant French twist, and a stylish, simple little black dress. Bucky is normally fastidious with his appearance, but today his hair isn't _really_ brushed and he hasn't shaved. He just has to hope he's got enough time to sneak into the restrooms to do that before his shift starts.

 

"That's because I did," Bucky grins back, which ends up looking more like a grimace. Burnt toast and pulpy orange juice swirl unkindly in his stomach. What he wouldn'tve given for a bacon and egg sandwich and a black coffee. The contents of his stomach gurgle again plaintively as his mind furnishes him with sense-memories of extra crispy bacon, and piping hot joe.

 

His mood doesn't improve when Sharon is nearly taken out by some asshole performing an illegal left turn at an intersection. Like any good New Yorker, he's gifted in the art of hurling reactionary abuse at complete strangers, and the driver is no exception. The range of his expletives is colourful and inventive, and he's not above throwing in a rude hand gesture or three. Even then, his response is probably a little more over-kill than normal.

 

By the time they get to Fulton Street, Bucky is feeling tense and caffeine-deprived. He's left little crescent nail marks in Sharon's dashboard, and he has to leg it inside pretty quickly so he's not late.

 

He has a small locker in the Macy's employees-only area with a few toiletries, enough to fix his hair and shave. Unfortunately, he has to choose between making himself more presentable, and coffee and a cigarette.

 

It's a supremely cruel choice to have to make. It's like a criminal holding guns to the heads of his two best friends and making him choose who to save and who to kill.

 

There have been rumours some high-profile suits will be in and around the store in the next few days, though, so as much as he desperately needs that double hit of caffeine and nicotine, he has to go with 'presentable'. The decision cuts him to the quick and he grimaces. Being a responsible adult is fucking hard.

 

Bucky wets a comb and arranges his hair to be less artfully tousled and more stylishly sleek. He shaves, and nicks himself on the tender part of his throat, a big fat droplet of blood landing on the collar of his favourite black shirt. Luckily, it isn't noticeable, but Bucky knows it's there and that irritates him all the same.

 

He walks out onto the floor with approximately twelve seconds to spare, looking poised and classy, although he feels anything but.

 

Sharon is waiting for him in menswear. "That's better," she remarks warmly, and Bucky pulls his suit jacket away from his shirt to give her a fashionable twirl. His black-on-black-on-black ensemble -- black dress shirt with black tie and black suit -- is her second favourite, after the ivory dress shirt, black tie and black waistcoat.

 

Giving him an affectionate smile, Sharon reaches into his left front pocket and pulls out a small badge. She pins 'James' to his left lapel, and dusts a speck of lint off his shoulder. His colleague tends to fuss over him a little, and while that sort of behaviour would irritate him coming from anyone else, Bucky accepts it from her without argument.

 

Bucky likes the days he works with Sharon the best; she's stunning and she makes him laugh, and they look like some kind of intense, attractive, high-financed power couple instead of poor minimum-wage-earning retail schlubs.

 

So yes, working with Sharon Carter always makes him feel a bit better, but today just seems to be a lost cause.

 

First, Loss Prevention goes storming through the store at around 10.15am (seriously? Open for a quarter of an hour and people are already stealing shit?), a little kid drops a deuce in his diaper and his mother refuses to take him to the changing station (the stench stays in his nostrils, and Bucky reaffirms his desire to remain childless to the end of his days), and someone leans on the little 'do not break glass' glass, and sets the fire alarm off ("Sir, please put on some pants. We need to get to the emergency assembly point.").

 

And all of this before any of his vices of choice, or even his lunch break.

 

Bucky's customer service skills are normally exceedingly high, with an excellent strike rate for sales. He is up with current fashion, and has a brilliant eye for colour and form. While a team of designers normally comes in and sets the clothing displays and arranges their stock, Bucky has shown such an aptitude for it in the last three years, they've let him take over that part.

 

Of course, he doesn't get any extra _pay_ for doing this, just the satisfaction that his department looks fantastic and that it's all because of him.

 

Sharon says he should try to get transferred to the Midtown Macy's, and Bucky would love that, despite the extra commute from Brooklyn to Manhattan, but positions there are hard to come by.

 

The thought is depressing, and he zones out slightly while waiting outside a change room to hand a balding businessman a size larger pair of suit pants. He'd told Bucky he was a waist size 38, even though Bucky could _clearly_ see he was at least a 40. The man pokes his head out of the curtain and snatches the 40 from Bucky's waiting hands, muttering underneath his breath about smartass kids.

 

Bucky bites his lip nearly until it bleeds.

 

So yeah, he's having a royally shitty day, and he hasn't even had a break yet.

 

Bucky's just starting to think he's at rock bottom for the week, when he notices the shirts.

 

The reason he'd been so goddamned tired yesterday is because he'd stayed back a few hours after store close, re-arranging his new stock of business shirts in their clear packaging, according to size and style and colour in their table displays. He doesn't need to do that, but his dad always taught him that hard work would be noticed and rewarded.

 

And he _really_ wants that transfer to Manhattan.

 

On a random patrol around his department, he comes across one of the tables of business shirts to find no less than three out of their packets, laid casually across the others. Bucky closes his eyes and sighs deeply.

 

Since all of the shirts come from the manufacturer already in the plastic, it's not the easiest task to get them back in and looking neat. In fact, it's a fucking nightmare. It takes Bucky nearly fifteen minutes to get all three shirts folded around their cardboard rectangles and back into the plastic packaging looking presentable and not creased too badly.

 

He finds their spots on the table and organises them, hoping that will be the end of it.

 

On the next display, there are three more casually strewn across the table.

 

Bucky's teeth clench together, muscles working underneath his jaw.

 

He walks heavily over to the table and begins the process all over again. The only bonus is he apparently gets quicker at it, as these three shirts only take him twelve minutes to put back into their packaging.

 

Bucky is about to go back to the counter, when his gaze happens to fall on his third table of shirts and--

 

With a muttered curse, Bucky nearly stomps over to the table where he finds five -- goddamn _five_ \-- of them haphazardly out of their packages.

 

Who the hell is doing this? Who in God's name is making his day even more miserable than it was already? When Bucky finds them, he won't be responsible for what he does to them. Broken fingers? A distinct possibility. Waterboarding? Not out of the question.

 

Bucky delights in thinking up awful torturous things to do to the asswipe -- or asswipes, plural -- that keep messing up his fucking department. It's oddly gratifying.

 

After nearly twenty more minutes re-packaging the shirts, he casts his threatening blue-grey gaze around the racks to see if there is anything else out of place.

 

Satisfied, he heads back to the main counter.

 

Sharon sees the look on his face and arches one eyebrow. "You okay, Bucky? It looks like someone just pissed on your cornflakes."

 

Bucky rubs one eye socket with the heel of his hand. "You have no idea how badly I just need a coffee and a cigarette, Carter."

 

She tilts her head to the side in sympathy. "What's wrong?"

 

"Some prick keeps pulling the business shirts out of their packaging and leaving them all over. When I find him, I may just have an apoplectic fit."

 

Sharon's eyes drift over Bucky's left shoulder, and he hears her swallow audibly.

 

"What?" he asks, her face frozen in an odd expression. She doesn't answer, so he turns around.

 

And there he is. Back at the very first table that Bucky straightened up, a tall, broad-shouldered, blond guy who looks like he stepped out of an Abercrombie & Fitch store window is pulling more shirts out of their packaging, manhandling them for a bit, and just leaving them on top of the fixtures. Christ, he isn't even _looking_ at them half the time, just gazing around the department like some fucking idiot.

 

That's when it happens. Bucky's brain just... snaps. He turns towards the man and squares his shoulders.

 

"Bucky--" Sharon begins, warning colouring her tone, but he doesn't care anymore.

 

Bucky is going to make that motherfucker _eat_ the next shirt he takes out of the packaging.

 

With an even, unhurried pace to his walk that belies the absolute wrath that's building inside him, Bucky gets right next to the man as he's vaguely fondling a silk-cotton blend.

 

"Excuse me, sir," Bucky says, voice dripping with saccharine, though he says 'sir' in the same tone he might address someone else as 'dumbass', "did you require help to purchase any of these shirts?" He makes a dramatic, sweeping gesture to the unpackaged shirts lying about.

 

The tank of a man looks down at his hands like he doesn't know what he's doing, and makes a little exclamation. "Oh, no, it's okay. I'm just browsing." He finishes the sentence with white teeth peeking out in a little smile, and Bucky doesn't care how nice the smile actually _is_ , he wants to wipe it off the dude's face.

 

With the sole of his shoe.

 

"Oh, okay," Bucky says, plastering on his so-fake-it-hurts-his-face-to-make smile, "because I just thought you were making more work for me. After all, I _have_ just spent close to forty-five minutes refolding every single shirt you've managed to pull out of its packaging."

 

The guy gets a frown on his stupid Cro-Magnon forehead, but Bucky's on a roll.

 

He rests both hands on the side of the table and leans towards the behemoth. "I'm failing to see the point of this exercise. If you took one out to figure out the size, I can understand. But fourteen shirts? Fourteen? It seems a bit over-kill." He gestures one hand out to the racks right next to the tables. "We have miles and miles of shirts hanging on these nifty little things call 'coathangers' -- bear with me, they're a new-fangled invention -- that you can look at, without resorting to ripping these packed ones out of their plastic."

 

The guy is understandably starting to look a little put out. "Listen, er--" his eyes flick down to Bucky's name badge, "-- _James_ , I really don't think--"

 

And Bucky fucking hates that. He _hates_ when people who don't know him read his name off the badge like they do. Like they have some right to use it because it just happens to be on display.

 

That's like a red flag to a bull. That's Bucky officially hitting critical mass.

 

That's Bucky so very, _very_ done.

 

Sharon's come over, tugging on Bucky's sleeve. "Buck," she hisses, "You need to stop. _Now_." In a rare display of irateness towards her, Bucky yanks his arm out of Sharon's grip, frowning at his friend. She purses her lips in an unhappy line, and takes a tiny step back.  

 

Bucky turns back to the blond man, who for some reason, is still standing there taking his tirade. "I have better things to do with my day and, actually, my _life_ , than refold _every single damn shirt_ you pull out of its packaging." Bucky really doesn't know how he keeps from doing the angry, aggressive point to his chest, but somehow, he does.

 

"You think I'm getting paid enough for this?" He spreads his arms out wide. "I work in _retail_ , man. I'm here for twelve hours and get paid for ten, and at least six of those have felt like I've been following you around, cleaning up my place."

 

There's a tiny voice in the back of Bucky's mind -- sounding annoyingly like Sharon -- telling him that he's crossed a pretty fucking huge line. You just don't _do_ this to a customer. Not only is it not great from a job standpoint, but retail rage is a real thing; he's worked enough Black Fridays to know. It's _so_ not a smart thing to be openly combative to a customer, let alone one who looks like he could break Bucky in half.

 

The guy is half a head taller than Bucky, nearly half as wide again, and looks like he could be quarterback in a pro NFL team. Bucky _should_ be thinking about his own health and safety, or property destruction, but somehow his outburst has actually made that impressive shoulder-span curl up in on itself, cowed.

 

Adrenalin is pumping through Bucky's system. The little voice continues to tell him he's doing something wrong, but the absolute _rush_ he's getting from finally speaking his mind is almost like a fucking opiate. Bucky's spine is tingling, his tongue is sharp, and he can't seem to _shut his mouth._

 

And so on he goes.

 

"You know what? I've had it with today," Bucky says, throwing up his arms. "Fire alarms, dirty diapers, being called a smartass and treated like shit for doing my job, and doing it _well_ , and then having the work I spent _two hours_ of my own fucking time doing last night getting ruined _over_ and _over again_ , by some dude who's not even going to _buy_ any of it."

 

The man-mountain actually _looks guilty._ Bucky can't believe it. In fact, it's almost disappointing. He's clearly spoiling for a fight, or even just a little bit of back-and-forth arguing, but Captain All-America stands there and seems _apologetic._

 

Regardless of whether he gets the fight he's itching for, it feels _so good_ to get all that out. It _continues_ to feel good for approximately the next four seconds, until...

 

"Mr Barnes!" A terrifyingly familiar voice calls out. Bucky's spine stiffens and he thinks his gonads actually retreat back into his body.

Just like that, it's all over.

 

Alexander Pierce, ancient and powerful head of the menswear department is making his way over to them. Pushing seventy, Pierce is hard man and even harder to impress. Bucky should know; he's been breaking his back for three years, trying to get noticed by the guy.

 

What a day for it to finally happen. 

 

Sharon takes another reflexive step back, hands clasped in front of her. Bucky flicks a look up at the guy he's just being chewing out, whose big, dumb face still shows contrition and wariness. He _still_ has one of the unpackaged shirts between his fingers. Oddly enough, that's not filling Bucky with the rage it once was.

 

Pants-pissing fear has taken _that_ place, and Bucky thinks perhaps _now_ he's hit rock bottom for the week.

 

Pierce's shrewd gaze takes all three of them in. He saves his most fearsome gaze for Bucky, who swallows audibly.

 

"What seems to be the problem, Mr Barnes?" he asks pleasantly, as if he hadn't heard any of it. Maybe he hadn't.

 

Sharon, Bucky and the customer all start speaking at once, and Pierce holds a hand up to silence them. All three stop talking immediately.

 

"Excuse me, sir," the customer politely -- why the fuck politely? Bucky's just been tearing strips off him -- addresses Pierce, "I didn't mean to cause any trouble--"

 

Pierce turns towards him, the dark frown disappearing from his face instantly. "No trouble at all Mister...?"

 

"Rogers," the man answers.

 

"Mr Rogers," Pierce says again, and it's all Bucky can do not to let a hysterical bubble of laughter out. "Alexander Pierce, head of Menswear. It seems to me that young _James_ here," he sneers Bucky's given name like a profanity, "was acting in a less than professional manner. I didn't hear it all, but I definitely heard _enough._ "

 

Well, that answers the question as to what he heard. Yeah, Bucky's in a whole _mess_ of dog shit.

 

"Mr Pierce, I--" Bucky begins, not really knowing where he's going with the sentence, but it doesn't really matter, because Pierce cuts him off.

 

"Mr Barnes, I hold my standard of employee to this store, and this department in particular, to an incredibly high standard. You have sorely let us down, but more importantly, you've let _yourself_ down with this common behaviour."

 

Bucky can feel his spine curve in shame. This is worse than getting the 'I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed' talk from his father.

 

Pierce continues. "Raised voices are never acceptable, _especially_ when directed towards one of our valued customers." He looks at Rogers, who squirms uncomfortably. Rogers doesn't seem to be enjoying listening to Bucky get chewed out, even though he probably should.

 

"Excuse me, Mr Pierce," Rogers interjects again. "I'm afraid there's been a little bit of a misunderstanding here. I was pulling the shirts out and--"

 

"Mr Rogers, there is no need for you to explain yourself. Whatever happened, Mr Barnes' reaction was simply uncalled for, no matter the circumstances."

 

Rogers looks at him apologetically, and Sharon surreptitiously touches his back.

 

"I'm afraid in the face of such outright improper and amateurish behaviour, I'm going to have to let you go."

 

Bucky, Sharon and Rogers' eyes all widen.

 

A cold lump settles in Bucky's stomach. Somehow, the floor of 'rock bottom' collapses beneath his feet, and he finds the sub-sub basement to 'shitty day'.

 

"But sir--" Sharon begins.

 

"I don't think that's necessary--" Rogers gets out.

 

"Please, sir, I didn't mean--" Bucky entreaties, but Pierce closes his eyes and shakes his head. Any and all disciplinary options that don't include retrenchment summarily die.

 

"All right," Bucky says tiredly, fiddling with his tie. "My shift finishes at six."

 

Pierce shakes his head. "You misunderstand me. I cannot risk you lashing out at another customer, Mr Barnes. You're to leave the floor immediately. Ms Carter will look after the department for the rest of the day, and Mr Rumlow will escort you off premises once you've collected your belongings."

 

Great. As if being fired in front of his friend and a customer wasn't humiliating enough, he's going to get walked by the dour slab of beef that is Head of Security. It's another metaphorical slap in Bucky's face, but he's taken so many in the space of the last few minutes, everything feels numb.

 

"Yes, sir," is all he says wearily, all the fight in his system gone. He turns towards Sharon, who looks like she's just about to burst into tears. "Hey, it's okay. I did a really stupid thing, this is the consequence."

 

"But how are you going to get home?" Sharon asks, voice hitching.

 

"I'll be fine. I'll take the bus, or something" Bucky says, crooking his finger under her chin. "And I'll call you when you're off."

 

Sharon nods. Bucky turns back to Pierce and Rogers -- who looks horrified -- gives them both a stiff nod, and walks out of the department with his shoulders back, head held high.

 

Rumlow is waiting for him in the employee area, and stands with his arms crossed over his impressive chest while Bucky empties out his locker. It's not until he's doing this that the enormity of what's just happened begins to sink in. Although Bucky's eyes are itchy and he feels sick, he won't give Rumlow the satisfaction of any kind of emotional response.

 

Instead, he leaves Macy's as quickly as possible, heads straight across the street and buys the largest coffee they've got. The bus stop is half a block away, so he lights up a cigarette and wanders down.

 

The caffeine and the nicotine hit him hard and fast, and Bucky wonders if he might've been able to keep it together if he'd just not gotten out of his routine.

 

Bucky sits on the bench at the bus stop, feet out in front of him, arm draped across the back of the seat. His suit jacket is off and he's loosened his tie, and he's really trying not to think about how this has affected his chances of working in the Manhattan store. The transfer's out of the question now, obviously, but maybe he could grovel to the head of the women's department. Maria Hill had transferred there from Brooklyn a year ago, and she always _did_ like him, perhaps she could get his foot in the door and--

 

Pounding footsteps on the pavement that stop just in front of him make him squint and look up.

 

Bucky sighs heavily, shaking his head. "How'd you know where I was?" he asks Rogers, cigarette bobbing between his teeth.

 

"You said you were going to catch the bus. This is the closest bus stop," he answers smugly, not even a little out of breath, not a hair out of place. It's coming close to being really annoying.

 

Bucky exhales a plume of smoke. He's not really sure what to say to this guy. While he'd royally pissed Bucky off, Bucky should _know_ better. He's worked in retail for seven years, three of those at Macy's. Bucky knows _well_ how the game is played.

 

He's lived the dream of actually telling a customer off, but now that it's happened, he has to live with the consequences, too.

 

And they are fucking _sucky_.

 

"I just wanted to say that I'm sorry you got fired. You were a bit of an ass--" Bucky looks up sharply at that, but doesn't deny it, "--but it was an awful thing to have happen because of me."

 

Bucky grunts as he pushes himself to his feet, suit jacket draped over his arm. "It wasn't your fault. I mean, _yeah_ , you annoyed the fuck outta me, but it's my job to put up with that. And I didn't. So it's all on me, pal." Bucky shrugs. "At least I went out memorably."

 

There's an awkward pause, where Rogers purses his lips and Bucky takes another drag of his cigarette. "Listen, I have to ask," Bucky says, drawing the blond's attention, "Just what the hell were you even _doing_ with those shirts, anyway?"

 

At that, Rogers's pink lips quirk nervously, one hand rubbing down his arm in a slightly anxious gesture. "I work for another department store, with the Visual Merchandising team. I often go to competitor stores and have a little look at how they're displaying the stock, to see how we're stacking up." His mouth curl at the corners in an apologetic fashion. "We like to be the best at these things."

 

"Oh," Bucky says. That's the last thing he expected.

 

Rogers continues. "I've been to all of the Macy's in New York, and the menswear department in your store has consistently always been incredibly impressive, from a visual standpoint."

 

Bucky's wrong. _That_ is the last thing he expected. He coughs on his cigarette. "Really?" he chokes out, after Rogers slams him on the back a few times.

 

"Really. I was there to look around and see how the new season's stock was getting presented. Problem is... I guess you could call me a little bit OCD." Rogers lifts his shoulders in an unhappy shrug. "I always need to be doing something with my hands. Most of the time I don't even know I'm doing anything at all, especially if I'm otherwise occupied. Today as I was looking around, it was... pulling shirts out of packaging."

 

Rogers finishes his story and if Bucky hadn't already felt a little shitty about yelling at him after he tried to stick up for him in front of Pierce, he feels about the size of an _ant_ right about now.

 

"I, ah," Bucky stops, not knowing what to say. "Shit. I'm really sorry for yelling at you," he says, and he actually means it.

 

Rogers gives him a similar, apologetic smile. "I'm sorry for messing up your department and getting you fired. I _do_ know what it's like to work in retail."

 

Empathy does explain why Rogers didn't bite back more when Bucky was letting him have it. He wonders, if Pierce hadn't overheard Bucky's cathartic outburst, whether the guy would've reported him at all. Probably not.

 

But that hardly matters now. Bucky shrugs, like it's no big deal. It _is_ , but he needs to get over it.

 

"Say, you wouldn't happen to know who's on the menswear VM detail, would you? I've tried to find out, but nobody can give me a name," Rogers says out of the blue. "I really look forward to seeing what they're going to do this Fall."

 

Bucky flicks the ash from his cigarette and gives a rueful chuckle. "You may be set up for a disappointment."

 

"Why is that?"

 

"Because it is-- _was_ me." Bucky hates that he has to correct the tense.

 

Rogers' eyes widen comically. "You're shitting me. Really?"

 

"Really," Bucky nods humbly.

 

"But they normally have another team to do that stuff."

 

"Yeah, but I got really good at it, and enjoyed it, so they left it to me."

 

"Wow," Rogers comments, clearly rapt. "I've been so impressed with your aesthetic. It's very modern and cutting edge," he enthuses.

 

Bucky shrugs it off, his mind elsewhere. It's hard to hear and accept the praise when Pierce's words like _amateurish_ and _unprofessional_ are still ringing in his ears.

 

The blond man frowns, like he's thinking deep thoughts. Bucky can't really concentrate on that too much, deep thoughts of his own are currently hurting his brain. He rubs his eyes with the heels of both hands, before scruffing his hair out of the neatly combed style it has been in all morning. He really just wants to get home and maybe have a drink or five while he has a bath, smoke a few cigarettes and categorically deny that this day has even happened.

 

When Bucky looks back up, Rogers is staring at him. Bucky arches an eyebrow and gives him a questioning look.

 

Rogers startles out of his staring and looks at his watch, giving a little curse. "I have to get back to work--"

 

"Rub it in," Bucky answers automatically, and Rogers gives him a pained look. Bucky nearly laughs at the guilty expression on the big idiot's face, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. "No use crying over spilt milk, right? It was too good to pass up."

 

Rogers shakes his head a little, an exasperated half-smile on his face. "As I was saying... I have to go, but I really think you should call me. Someone with your talent and eye would be an absolute asset to my team. Maybe we can set up an interview." He takes out his wallet and finds a business card. Retrieving a pen from his top pocket, he scribbles something on the back of it before handing it to Bucky.

 

Bucky sticks the end of the cigarette in his mouth, his eyes immediately going to the hand-written digits. He looks up at Rogers, whom he swears goes a little red.

 

"That's uh... my personal cell number. The other number's my work one, but. Feel free to contact me on that. To. You know. Interview."

Bucky looks up through his eyebrows at Rogers, pursing his lips so the cigarette rolls between them. The man's cheeks start to flame out, and Bucky can't help a small chuckle.

 

Rogers looks at his watch again, and hisses his disapproval. "I really have to go. Call me?" he says, before backing up and departing as swiftly as he arrived, leaving Bucky alone at the bus stop.

 

"Yeah, okay," Bucky mumbles as he watches Rogers run off, and it's not a wholly unpleasant sight.

 

The whine of compression brakes alerts Bucky to the fact that his bus has arrived. He quickly stubs out the cigarette and jumps on.

 

Finding a seat in the back, Bucky takes a moment to review what has happened in the last hour; he had a mini-meltdown and yelled at a customer, his boss tore strips off him and he got fired, said customer potentially offered him the chance for a new job in the career he was heading for, as well as maybe hit on him, just a little.

 

Without the anger clouding his otherwise keen senses, Bucky can accept that Rogers is pretty fucking hot.

 

He looks at the card and turns it over to read the embossed lettering on the official side.

 

When he sees it, he has to stop himself from swearing loudly on the packed bus, and scaring some elderly people.

 

Clear as day on the front are the words:

 

_Steve Rogers_

_Visual Merchandising Managing Coordinator_

_NYC Division_

_Nordstroms_

 

Beneath it is an office address in Man-fucking-hattan.

 

Bucky then has to stop himself from giving some kind of weird, hollering whoop with an air-punch that would _also_ scare the elderly people.

 

Instead, he takes a few steadying breaths, and pulls the cell out of his pocket. He turns the card over and punches in the private number on the back.

 

It rings about four times before there's a click and the call is connected.

 

"Steve Rogers," the voice says on the other end of the line, and Bucky can't help but give a shit-eating grin.

 

"Steve, _pal_ ," Bucky opens up with. "When you said you worked in another store as part of the VM team, you somehow failed to mention that you _were_ the whole fucking _department._ " Bucky chews on his bottom lip for a moment before continuing. "Although it's not that hard to believe; you're big enough."

 

There's a pause, before Steve's rich chuckle fills his ear.

 

Bucky laughs, too, and for the first time all day, he thinks it might _finally_ be looking up.

 

 

Suit reference for Bucky:


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AKA the "You're going for a job interview and accidentally grab your interviewer's crotch" AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a true story, thanks Ellie! :)
> 
> Started to really like this version of the characters, thanks to Ellie, found another great Meet-Ugly to torture Bucky with that flowed on beautifully from the first one! 
> 
> It's probably the end, but I won't say that for sure, because if another idea crops up (or if any of you guys have some), I'm open to it. 
> 
> Either way, this would've been in no way possible without my intrepid beta, Sarah, who put up with me rewriting this so many times. It's so much better than its first and second versions, thank you xoxoxo
> 
> Huge artistic license taken with the company in question. But it's fiction, I'm hoping you'll just go with me on it.

"You have to be honest with me, Carter, how do I look?" Bucky asks seriously, skimming his fingers on the inner lining of his suit jacket.

 

Standing in the entry of Bucky's slightly-shabby-but-not-completely-ramshackle shared brownstone, Sharon looks at him critically, before making the 'turn around' gesture with one finger. Bucky complies immediately, showing her the back.

 

"I'm not sure. Can you lift the edge of your jacket a little?"

 

Bucky arches an eyebrow at the weird request, but does so. "Okay...?"

 

"That's good. Now, just bend forward at your hips slightly."

 

Bucky starts to, but then turns around with a filthy expression on his face. "You're just trying to look at my ass."

 

Sharon bursts into peals of laughter, and gives an over-dramatic shrug. "I'm only _human_ , Bucky."

 

Bucky grins almost immediately, a husky chuckle escaping his throat. "I don't know, sometimes I wonder..."

 

Stepping forward quickly, Sharon flicks him just below his left collarbone. "You are such a butthead, sometimes. Rest assured, you look very dapper. Now come on, we don't want to be late!"

 

Sharon and Bucky walk four blocks to the closest subway station. The trip into Manhattan shouldn't take more than half an hour, but Bucky doesn't want to risk there being any delays to make him late, so they are leaving a good ninety minutes early. The last thing he wants is to be tardy with this interview.

 

They find some seats in the second-last car. When they sit, Sharon immediately links her hand through Bucky's arm and leans against him; she is a wonderful, grounding presence, and he can just about dial down his twitching nerves because of her. Bucky is so thankful Sharon agreed to come with him on her day off. She tells him dirty jokes and makes him laugh, and helps him get out of his head for a little while.

 

It's been a week since Bucky was giving his marching orders from Macy's by Pierce. He's spent his time browsing the want ads, sleeping in until ten, and preparing for his interview with Steve 'J Crew' Rogers.

 

That's what Bucky calls him in his head. Sharon tends to just refer to him as 'The Stud'.

 

When he called Rogers on the bus on the way home after the incident, they'd had a little more of an in-depth discussion about his team, what he did, and what Bucky could do. It wasn't a long conversation, but long enough for Bucky to realise that he _really_ wanted a job there. Not only because he needs the money, but because it's something that is creative and challenging and he _wants_ to do it.

 

The week-long enforced break has been nice, but he's itching to work again.

 

Rogers had suggested an interview the following week, since he'd be spending the rest of his current week out of the office and visiting other stores in and around the city. He'd asked Bucky to bring in his resume and the photos of previous displays he'd done, when Bucky mentioned having some as reference.

 

And just like that, Bucky had an interview.

 

But... the circumstances surrounding him getting it were so ridiculous, so utterly _stupid_ , Bucky can't help but feel incredibly nervous.

 

He can't help but think that despite securing this interview on the basis of his apparent talent, his personal first impression on his potential employer was categorically _awful._ He came across as angry, rude, and _certainly_ not a team player.

 

Bucky now has a second chance to make a good first impression, and he doesn't intend to fuck it up.

 

The good thing about working in menswear has always been the ability to stay on top of trends, and Bucky has always made very good use of his staff discount. He chose a black single-breasted suit and black tie against an ivory shirt. Clean-shaven, hair fashionable and tidy, but not as rigid as he tended to style it for the ultra-conservative Pierce.

 

So, he's confident in his look, he just needs to project the right balance of enthusiasm, poise and humility.

 

Easy, right?

 

Right. 

 

The base of operations occupy a few floors in a building on 34th St, and Bucky laughs ruefully to know how close he is to the Macy's he had been so desperate to get transferred to. The New York offices of Nordstroms are not quite as large as the primary corporate building in Seattle, but neither are they small. Steve told him that he heads the Visual Merchandising for what they call the 'NYC Division', but his jurisdiction really covers most of the East Coast.

 

With their early arrival, Bucky has plenty of time to get a strong coffee and smoke a cigarette or two. Sharon blithely continues to buoy his ego with comforting white noise, but the closer it gets to the interview, the less her words register with his ears.  

 

When it's time, she walks him to his destination building and gives him a tight hug. "Call me when you're done, and then I'll treat you to a victory lunch."

 

"What if I don't get the job?" Bucky asks.

 

"Well, _that's_ the spirit!" Sharon responds sarcastically. "With an attitude like that, they'll be _sure_ to hire you!"

 

Bucky grimaces at her tone, and Sharon laughs lightly, kissing him on the cheek. "You'll be amazing," she says, before beginning to walk away.

 

Before she's gotten too far, however, Sharon calls out again. "Hey, Bucky!"

 

"Yeah, Carter?" he responds.

 

"Don't forget to say 'hi' to The Stud for me!"

 

Bucky flips her off as he enters the building with a breathy sigh. He's jittery enough as it is.

 

Then there's... _that_.

 

Apart from that strange vibe he got when Rogers gave him his cell number, and an instance or two during the phone conversation, their contact has been strictly professional. He hasn't spoken to his potential employer since last week, and isn't sure what to expect.

 

Regardless of whether there's any legitimate interest there or not, he's here to see the guy about a job, not a date. This person just might become his _boss_.

 

And if Bucky took any additional care in his appearance today, it was simply for that very professional angle.

 

Wearing the pants that make his ass look incredible is pure coincidence.

 

That shallow certainty in his appearance, at least, gives him a confident stride into the building. It feels a little more like an act today, rather than his state of being, but Bucky's always been adept at 'fake it 'til you make it'.

 

Bucky finds the elevator and takes it to the 22nd floor. When the doors open, he is struck by how incredibly _classy_ everything looks. He doesn't expect less from Nordstroms, but it's _still_ impressive to behold. The furniture and light fixtures _alone_ look like they cost more than Bucky's student loan debt. Half a wall off to the left has a tropical fish tank, and his shoes sink into incredibly plush carpet. There is a receptionist sitting at an enormous carved wooden counter, perpendicular to the fish.

 

She looks up and over her glasses when he approaches, somewhat slowly. Overcoming his feelings of awe, Bucky clears his throat and shoots her his most charming smile. "James Barnes to see Steve Rogers." It works a little; her dark plum lips curve into the shape of a smile.

 

"Do you have an appointment, Mr Barnes?" she asks.

 

"I do. At ten-thirty." Bucky takes a surreptitious look at her desk clock, which says it's twenty past.

 

"Please take a seat, Mr Barnes. He won't be long."

 

Bucky thanks her, and sits himself down in one of those incredibly cushy-looking chairs to wait.

 

Presently, the receptionist picks up her phone and dials. "Steve, your ten-thirty is here."

 

Bucky doesn't have to strain too hard to hear the tinny response from the other end. "Thanks, Darcy. I'm just finishing something, can you send him through in a few minutes?"

 

Darcy smiles brightly and gives a little salute, even though Rogers obviously can't see it. It makes Bucky smirk. "Aye aye, Captain."

 

So... T minus a few minutes to go.

 

Bucky does his best to not jiggle his leg nervously. Instead, he chooses to flick through his own folio, reminding himself of the points about each set-up, should Rogers have questions about them.

 

The time ticks by with agonising slowness, because there's only so many times he can leaf through the folio before he loses a little bit of his mind. He also discovers his silent rehearsal of questions and comments isn't quite so silent when he sees Darcy's head and eyes slowly rise over the top of the counter to stare at him. Bucky realises he's muttering to himself and clams up quickly, neck flushing a little pink.

 

Darcy grins smugly. "If you'd like to head down the corridor on your right, you'll want the second door to the left," she says finally.

 

"Thanks." Bucky stands so quickly, he nearly drops his folio onto the ground. He takes a deep breath.

 

Take it easy, Barnes.

 

Bucky collects himself and walks down the corridor, to the second door on the left. It has a simple nameplate that says 'Steve Rogers'. He puts the folio under his left arm, and taps his knuckles against the door.

 

"Come in," the familiar voice from inside says, and Bucky turns the knob.

 

It's a nice office. Not terribly large, but roomy. Dusty blue walls with white cornices, and framed art on the walls. There's a two-person sofa to the right, and two comfortable-looking chairs facing a sleek desk.

 

On the other side of that desk is Steve Rogers, apparently juggling an armful of some previous season catalogues.

 

He's wearing a double-breasted suit in ink blue, with a matching tie and pale blue shirt. The blue of the suit and of the walls sets off the colour of his eyes when he looks up and gives Bucky a quick smile.

 

Bucky's mouth goes a little dry. 

 

"Please excuse me, I was just going through some archives," he says, pushing the pile of catalogues to the side and dusting his hands together.

 

"That's fine," Bucky says eventually, finding his voice.

 

Rogers begins to walk around from behind his desk, straight towards him, hand out to shake. The figure he cuts is imposing and sharp.

 

"I'm so glad you could come in for this interview," he says.

 

Bucky moves to greet him. And there's his big mistake.

 

In hindsight, he should've just stayed still, let Rogers come to him to shake his hand, and be told where to sit. But no.

 

No, it doesn't go like that.

 

Bucky takes a step forward with his right hand out to shake, but it's not a clean step. The toe of his left shoe knocks the heel of his right shoe. Momentum being what it is, carries him in a few stumbling paces forward, and he trips.

 

By this time Rogers has closed the gap and nearly in front of him now.

 

Also in hindsight, if he'd just chosen to drop the folio from beneath his left arm, he'd have had another hand to brace against Rogers' chest. It would've been a bit embarrassing to trip upon entering the room, but that would've been the extent of his faux pas.

 

But the universe has different plans for Bucky. While he's diving forward, the folio stays stubbornly under his left arm. His right, still extended out, _does_ actually end up bracing against Rogers.

 

Just... not his chest.

 

Rogers' eyes open wide in surprise -- nearly as wide as Bucky's do -- when Bucky's right hand ends up cupping the guy's dick through his trousers.

 

It stays there for an agonising moment while Bucky tries to right himself and frantically attempts to process _what the fucking hell just happened._

 

Bucky looks up at Rogers with impossibly huge eyes. He drops his folio and uses his left hand against Rogers' chest to push himself upright, before drawing both hands back as though they've been burnt. He immediately looks at the floor frantically and crouches to pick up his folio, though Rogers begins to crouch as well -- presumably with the same idea -- and they nearly collide heads.

 

Bucky gets to the ground first and snatches up his folder. "Oh my god," he whimpers, clutching it to his chest and taking a small step back. His cheeks feel like they're burning, and it doesn't help that Rogers' face looks a little pink as well. "Oh my _gooo_ - _oood_ ," he says again, drawing out the last syllable, because he can't even really begin to process fucking the interview before he even got to say _one fucking word_.

 

"Are you all right?" Rogers asks, ducking his head down a little to try and catch his eye.

 

"I'm fine," Bucky answers, refusing to make eye contact. "That was an accident," he declares, louder than he means to.

 

"I figured as much," Rogers says, a tiny bit of mirth in his voice.

 

Jesus-fucking-christ, he thinks it's _funny_. Bucky is turning out to be the joke that just keeps on giving. This has got to be some kind of nightmare. On a freakishly bizarre whim, Bucky pinches the inner bicep of his right arm, hard.

 

Nope, he doesn't wake up. Definitely not dreaming. 

 

That really _did_ just happen.

 

Subtlety is, apparently, beyond Bucky's ability today, as Rogers catches him pinching himself and gives him a little, amused smile.

 

That's the end of that, then.

 

"I'm _so_ sorry," Bucky starts to babble. He only babbles when he's extremely nervous. "I'm really sorry, Mr. Rogers. Look, thanks for taking a chance on me, I'll see myself out," he says as he begins to back out of the office.

 

Before he even has a chance to register the movement, Rogers has gotten behind him and shut the door... with him still inside. The guy might be big, but he's faster than he looks.

 

Bucky frowns helplessly. _Now_ what?

 

"We haven't had our interview yet," he says simply.

 

The words don't really make sense to Bucky. He comprehends the English language, of course, but Rogers might as well be speaking Russian to him; it would produce the same confused results. "But-- But I--"

 

"--travelled all the way out here from Brooklyn to interview for me. I'd really like to get that underway, if that's all right with you, James?"

 

Bucky gapes like a landed fish, head nodding dumbly before his mind can think up an objection.

 

"Oh, and I think it's now probably fine for you to start calling me 'Steve'," Rogers says, a spark of amusement in periwinkle blue eyes.

 

"Bucky," Bucky blurts out, and Rog-- _Steve_ \-- gives him a curious look. "I go by 'Bucky', mostly." What a stupid thing to say. Sure, let's all get nice and cosy and first-name-basis with the interviewer whom you just _crotch-grabbed_.

 

Steve gives him a small smile. "Okay then, Bucky. Why don't you take a seat?" he gestures to one of the chairs in front of his desk.

 

So Bucky sits and Steve takes his seat on the other side. And they interview.

 

It's one of the most awkward experiences of Bucky's entire _life_. All the charm, all the confidence has leeched out of him, and although he valiantly pushes through, it seems to be a lost cause. He fidgets. He has to ask Steve to repeat some questions. He says 'um' every time he answers -- he _never fucking says 'um'._ There's an answer for every question, but everything is just off by degrees.

 

Bucky thinks it would've been kinder if Steve had let him leave, so he could've gone and found a spot to die quietly, rather than string out his death scene over half an hour of agonising torture.

 

And it's nothing to do with Steve; he's actually really nice, and it's clear he knows what he's talking about. The folio gets looked at, and Steve has compliments on his displays, as well as some very helpful constructive criticism.

 

But Bucky's head is just not in the game. He was so concerned about coming across as an actual professional that he ended up doing something so fucking awkward he can't recover from.

 

So much for making a good impression.

 

The interview finally comes to a close. Steve says he'll be in touch as they both stand, and holds out a hand to shake. Bucky can't help his neck flushing a dull, ugly red again, and nearly doesn't take his hand. The only thing that convinces him he will be safe is the fact that there's now a desk between them.

 

Bucky retreats as soon as he can.

 

The instant he's out of the office, Bucky takes a moment to stop and give his head a nice, clarifying smack against the wall. He rubs his forehead ruefully. It helps, in the sense that the pain and burgeoning headache he now has is moderately distracting from the crippling embarrassment.

 

Darcy looks up from her desk as he leaves. "Hey, do you want a piece of candy?" she asks.

 

Still rubbing his forehead, Bucky frowns. "Why?"

 

"You look a bit shaky, and your face is pale. Thought you might be hypoglycemic or something."

 

He's not, but candy is candy. "I'd love a piece," Bucky responds, deliberately ignoring her observations.

 

Darcy lifts up a bowl with many hard candy balls in a variety colours in it. Bucky takes a few, and pops one in his mouth straight away. The sweetness on his tongue is oddly soothing.

 

"Thanks," he says after a moment, before heading towards the elevator.

 

"You're welcome. Hey, maybe we'll see you back here again?"

 

Bucky gives her a smile that is really just a grimace dressed up for a night on the town as the elevator doors begin to close. "Sure," is what he says to her.

 

_Fat chance_ , is what he thinks. When the doors are shut, his ramrod straight posture collapses into a slump up against the back wall of the elevator, knowing he's seen the inside that office for the last time.

 

***

 

He calls Sharon, and organises to meet her at a nearby restaurant. She asks questions about the interview, and Bucky deflects, telling her they'll be meeting in a few, can't she just wait?

 

Bucky ends up beating her there, but doesn't ask to be seated yet. Instead, he goes to the bar and orders vodka, loosening his tie. By the time he's finishing his shot and asking for a second, Sharon arrives.

 

She gives him a concerned look, but doesn't say anything straight away. Sharon allows him to down his vodka before they move to be seated at a table by one of the wait staff.

 

It's a sign that Sharon knows him well that she doesn't begin speaking until after they've ordered and been together for at least five minutes, and he's grateful once again for her presence. "So... it went that well, did it?" she asks eventually.

 

"You have _no_ idea," Bucky says morosely.

 

"What happened?"

 

Bucky winces. "I really don't want to talk about it."

 

"But it's me, and so you're going to. Come on, Bucky. It probably wasn't as bad as you think."

 

Shaking his head, Bucky sips at the glass of water Sharon has been pushing in his direction. "I tend to think it was actually _worse_ than what I thought."

 

He remembers the trip. The shocked look on Steve's face. The red cheeks.

 

Goddamnit.

 

Bucky _really_ wants a do-over, but he thinks that this _was_ the chance for his do-over, and he fucking blew it. 

 

"Let me give you an outsider's perspective," Sharon cajoles. "I promise to give you my honest opinion."

 

Bucky sighs and takes another sip of water, and orders a beer from a passing waiter. He's going to have to be a touch drunker for this.

 

Their meals arrive during the recap of his nightmare day. The most annoying thing about telling Sharon the story is when she unsuccessfully tries to stifle her laughter, and ends up spitting all over him.

 

"Oh my god, Buck, you didn't," she sputters out.

 

"It's not like I _meant_ to grab the guy's junk," Bucky answers back pissily as he eats a fry, but he doesn't have much energy to be too upset with her. Hell, if it had happened to her instead of him, he'd be on the fucking floor in hysterics.

 

It's just the kind of friendship they have.

 

"I wouldn't have thought so. In the interview prep we did, I think I would've remembered talking you through the 'grab potential employer's penis' step."

 

"I didn't 'grab his penis'," Bucky protests. "I sort of just... cupped it."

 

"And how long was your hand there for?" Sharon asks.

 

Bucky frowns. "I don't know. A couple of seconds? It's all a really horrific blur."

 

"And what did The Stud do in response?"

 

Flushed. Looked at him. Asked if he was all right. Said 'Call me Steve'.

 

"Nothing much," Bucky answers carefully. "Just... got the interview started."

 

"Wait, you grabbed his dick and he didn't even _do_ anything?" Her voice rises in volume, and Bucky glares at her.

 

"Thanks, Carter, I don't think all the kitchen staff heard what happened."

 

"Sorry, sorry. But... really? No further mention of it?" Sharon persists.

 

"He told me he knew it was an accident... then said he still wanted to interview me." Bucky leaves out the part where Steve had given that amused little smile, or looked as though he was actually concerned about him. He just isn't in the mood for Sharon to twist his arm about hypotheticals. Hypothetical _whats_? He's not quite sure.

 

"Honestly, I think we both just wanted to forget it happened at all." Bucky continues, takes a swig of his beer. It's what _he_ wants to happen, but it's ridiculous to hope that his friend will drop the topic, at least, entirely.

 

Sharon puts one finger up in a 'wait' gesture. "Don't think we're through talking about your wandering hands, Barnes. But if it _was_ a taboo topic, then how did the rest of the interview go?"

 

Bucky's shoulders slump. The thing is, he can almost -- _almost_ \-- find the dick-grabbing funny, but the rest of the interview was just tragic, plain and simple.

 

"I blew it, Sharon," he says miserably, leaning one elbow heavily on the table. "I couldn't get over the initial fumble, and lost all my self-confidence. Felt like a fucking grade schooler."

 

"I'm sure you're over-exaggerating," Sharon says softly.

 

"I'm really not," he counters. "All I could think about was the horrible impression I've given him of me _twice_ , and--" He stops, almost unable to articulate.

 

Sharon cocks her head to the side and waits him out. She has the patience of a sniper.

 

Bucky sighs. "I kept thinking about what Pierce said." He pushes his plate out of the way to put his face down over his crossed arms. "About me being unprofessional."

 

"Pierce is an asshole," Sharon says vehemently, "and he doesn't know what he's talking about. You're amazing."

 

"I'm a fuck-up," Bucky says, and gets a stinging slap on his arm. "What the hell was that for?" he gripes, sitting up.

 

"You may have _fucked up_ , but you aren't _a_ fuck-up. There's a difference."

 

"I don't see it," Bucky says.

 

"This is why you keep me around," Sharon says imperiously, but her smile is friendly and her eyes are warm.

 

He's really glad that she is on his side.

 

Their meals are getting cold, and so by unspoken agreement, Bucky and Sharon continue eating.

 

"So..." Sharon says presently, and by her tone Bucky knows exactly what subject she's returning to. "About the grab... was he any good?"

 

"'Good'?" he queries.

 

Sharon waves her hand vaguely. "Good! I mean, was he packing?"

 

Bucky nearly bites his tongue while he chews. "I can't believe you just asked me that."

 

"Of course you can. Also, you just got the most action I've had in months, so inquiring minds wish to know."

 

Bucky closes his eyes. He doesn't particularly want to answer Sharon's question, but it makes him remember actually grabbing the guy and, well...

 

"He seemed... decent," Bucky answers, lips twitching.

 

"I _knew_ it," Sharon crows. "The Stud is an _actual_ stud."

 

Bucky lifts one shoulder in a shrug and goes back to eating his fries, only to be stopped once again when Sharon grabs his wrist and begins shaking it.

 

"Oh my god, I know what you should do," she says.

 

"Find a TGI Friday's job application?" he asks.

 

"No, dumbass. Ask him out!"

 

Of all the things Sharon could've said, that wasn't the one he was expecting. " _Excuse_ me?"

 

"It makes perfect sense! You think you boned the interview, right?"

 

"Right..."

 

"So, what's to stop you asking him out? No pressure of a job or of him being your boss or anything."

 

"But--"

 

"And from what you've told me, he's given you a few signals, this could be one of them. And you have his personal phone number."

 

"I don't think--"

 

" _And_ he didn't freak out over what happened in the interview. I dunno, an asshole probably would've given you a hard time over it, or actually let you walk out of there when you wanted to."

 

Bucky shakes his head slowly. "This is the dumbest idea you've ever had."

 

" _Au contraire_ , Barnes, it's a perfect 'in'. You've been nothing but memorable to him."

 

"I don't want to be having this conversation."

 

Sharon gives one shoulder an artless shrug. "You like him, don't you?"

 

"I don't even know him," Bucky grouses.

 

"You don't have to know someone well to like them. Do you like him?"

 

Sharon is like a pitbull with lockjaw. "He's hot, I guess," Bucky admits grudgingly, and Sharon laughs at him. Saying Steve Rogers is hot is like saying the sun is a bit warm. It's a blatantly obvious fact, and his friend can see through him like he's completely transparent.

 

"Okay, so he's hot, but hot guys can be jerks. You haven't answered my question. Do you _like_ him?"

 

Bucky stays silent for a few moments. "A little," he finally admits, and Sharon looks triumphant.

 

"Perfect. So you know what to do."

 

"I sure do," Bucky says with false cheer. He picks up his cell and mimes talking into it. "'Hey Steve. I know I yelled at you the first time we met, and grabbed your dick through your pants the second time. I feel this is a _great_ basis upon which we could start dating. Whaddaya say?"

 

Sharon smirks at him. "Well, I wouldn't have put it _exactly_ like that, but you _have_ been taking a rather direct approach with him. Maybe it'll work?"

 

Bucky shakes his head, but can't help letting out an exasperated chuckle. Sharon finally allows the subject to be changed as they finish their meals. When his plate is empty, Bucky gets up and lays his napkin across it.

 

"I'm going out for a smoke. Can you order dessert?" Bucky asks, and Sharon nods. "Get us something really sweet." He thinks on it for a moment. "With ice cream, and nuts."

 

"I would've thought you'd had enough of nuts today," Sharon says, laughing at the dreadful glower Bucky shoots her. "I'm sorry, it was too good," she apologises insincerely.

 

"I was _going_ to let you off the hook with the bill, but just for that, no way. Make sure it comes with a fuck-tonne of fudge, too."

 

"You got it, Sarge," Sharon snaps him a salute, still giggling.

 

"You don't salute NCOs," Bucky chastises her before exiting onto the street. He feels around in his pocket for his smokes, making a happy sigh when he finds them. When the nicotine hits Bucky's system, he begins to calm down.

 

The smoke curls in his lungs, warming them from the slight chill in the air. Even though once again everything's kind of gone to shit, he can take a moment to just breathe. Smoking allows him to zone out for a little while, and he's grateful for the reprieve from reality.

 

Halfway through his cigarette, there's a buzz in his jacket and it brings him abruptly back to the present. Bucky retrieves his phone from the front pocket. He looks at the number displayed on the screen and pales. Well, at least he's getting the bad news quickly and doesn't have to dwell on it.

 

Taking another quick drag of his smoke, and ducking under an awning to get out of the flow of traffic, Bucky connects the call.

 

"James Barnes," he answers carefully.

 

"Hey Bucky, it's Steve Rogers," comes the friendly voice at the other end of the line.

 

"Hi, Steve." Bucky is equally as impressed as he is frustrated that his voice is so goddamn calm _now_.

 

"Hope I'm not interrupting you. I don't know if you've left Manhattan yet."

 

"You're not. I'm just having some lunch with Sharon."

 

"Right now? I _am_ terribly sorry, I can call back--"

 

"No!" Bucky raises his voice, before making an annoyed grimace. "It's okay, I'm having a smoke break."

 

"Oh." Steve pauses on the other end of the line. "That makes me feel a little better." There's another pause that goes for just a beat too long before Steve begins talking again. "I thought you were going to say that I was interrupting a date. Sharon's the pretty girl who worked with you at--"

 

"--Macy's, yeah." Bucky finishes for him. He arches one eyebrow. What a weird statement. Was he fishing for personal information?

 

Bucky frames his next words very carefully. "We're just good friends. Sharon came into the city today to be my moral support. Now she gets to pay while I drown my sorrows."

 

"Oh, okay," Steve answers. And maybe Bucky's not hearing things accurately, but he sounds _pleased_ at that information.

 

Well, shit. Maybe Sharon was onto something. And hey, maybe all the awful stuff that happened _doesn't_ have to have been for nothing. He's had a few drinks, any further embarrassment can be successfully numbed by that.

 

And yeah, generally Bucky is a pretty ballsy motherfucker -- no pun to the incident intended.

 

But he has to pay attention, because Steve's talking again. "--why is she helping you drown your sorrows?"

 

And here we go.

 

"I know it's rude to answer a question with a question, but would you like to go out for a drink with me?"

 

There's dead silence over the end of the line for three long seconds. That's as long as it takes for Bucky's panic-babble to settle in once again.

 

"Or not, I didn't mean to offend," he tries to save face quickly. "I just figured you were nice, and you seemed a little interested, and given I completely screwed my interview, it might've been worth a shot to ask at lea--"

 

"Screwed your interview?" Steve interrupts. "What makes you say that?"

 

Bucky coughs on his cigarette smoke. "You _were_ in the same room as me, right? I was _terrible_. I couldn't get it together after-- after--"

 

"I think you interviewed well. You were nervous and a little shaken after the initial-- er, _greeting_ \--" Bucky nearly laughs at Steve's diplomatic phrasing. "--but I understand why. Your content and folio were both excellent, and I've talked to the referees from your previous employers on your resume. They spoke very highly of you, I was impressed."

 

Bucky wishes there was a seat close by, because he just wants to _sit down_. "Really?"

 

"Really," Steve replies. "In fact, I've made a decision. I'd like you to start next week, if you're available, that is."

 

Bucky grips his phone tightly. "I'm available. I'm _very_ available." He winces at his slightly unfortunate word choice that makes him sound desperate on the personal front, as _well_ as the professional front. Stupid, stupid, stupid. What the fucking hell does he have against just saying 'Yes'?

 

Bucky does his best to correct the error, but it sounds awkward even to his own ears. "That is to say, I can _definitely_ start next week. Monday?"

 

"That's great. Darcy has your details, she'll email the employment contract for you to read over and sign. There'll be an induction process, but then a lot of training for this particular work is out on the job."

 

Bucky's listening, but he's so overwhelmed he only catches every second word. Breathing out an exhausted sigh, and still reeling from the news, he looks out at the street. "I really don't know what to say. Thank you for giving me a chance."

 

"It's not a problem," Steve replies. "I look forward to seeing what you can do." He pauses, and Bucky gets the distinct impression that the conversation isn't over. Because there _is_ that tiny matter of having asked Steve out.

 

Maybe he'll sweep it under the rug, like the trouser-grab. Maybe he'll smile and forget Bucky ever said anything. But--

 

"Now, about that drink..." Steve says in a rumbly tenor, and Bucky's stomach sinks.

 

Of _course_ , he's gone and put his foot in it again. Asking out his almost-certainly-not-his-boss when he didn't have a job was all well and good. But now he does, and Steve _is_. Can Bucky just dig himself out of a hole for _five goddamn seconds_ when it concerns this guy?

 

"Just forget that bit, yeah? My mouth likes to run away with me." Bucky does his best to back-pedal. If he's confident that Steve knows _one_ thing about him, he's sure it's _that._

 

"Oh," Steve says, almost disappointed. "Because I was going to ask if Saturday was okay with you, but if you've changed your mind--"

 

Bucky smacks his palm against his head a few times. "No, no. I haven't. I just thought--" He stops and resets himself. "Saturday is great for me."

 

"Excellent," Steve says warmly, and Bucky's toes don't tingle. Or at least, that's what he tells himself.

 

They say their goodbyes, and Bucky spends a good minute looking down at his phone, mystified, after the call is over.

 

He takes one last puff of his cigarette before stubbing it out and heading back inside the restaurant where Sharon is waiting. An obnoxiously large banana split with nuts, and the requisite fuck-tonne of fudge is waiting for him, but Sharon has made a little start on it.

 

Bucky slides into his chair, running a hand through his hair.

 

"Who was on the phone?" Sharon asks as she licks some fudge off her spoon, before going back for more. "I saw you pacing and having a rant through the window."

 

Bucky takes his spoon and scoops some ice cream and fudge. "That was Steve," he says slowly, almost not believing his own words.

 

Sharon's eyes grow wide. "And?"

 

Bucky looks at her, an odd little smile curving his lips. "I have... a date."

 

Sharon hastily swallows the ice cream in her mouth. "Holy shit! What just happened? Did he ask you, or did you ask him?"

 

Giving a one-shouldered shrug, he doesn't answer. Sharon looks at him incredulously as he puts the spoon in his mouth, savouring the sweet and the coldness. "Buck, you can't just say that and then give me _nothing_. Come on! What happened?"

 

There's this stupid thing where Bucky can't get that Mona Lisa expression off his face. "I asked. Took your advice."

 

Sharon punches the air. "See? I _knew_ it. He was interested and you were memorable. See?" She waves her spoon in his direction, and Bucky moves back a little to avoid getting smacked in the face. " _Memorable_ is the way to go."

 

"Uh-huh," Bucky doesn't sound convinced, but that's mostly because Sharon is being entirely too smug.

 

"So what are you going to do?"

 

"Drinks on Saturday. Before you ask-- no details set yet. I'll work out a time and place later." He gives her a long glance. "And no, you can't come."

 

"You are no fun," she pouts. "No, wait. You _are_ fun. You grab people's privates in job interviews. You're just no fun to _me._ " Her whining has absolutely no malice at all, and Bucky affectionately taps her foot with his under the table. Sharon loses the pout and gives him a huge, genuine smile.

 

Bucky's whole expression softens and he smiles back at her. They both take large spoonfuls of ice cream.

 

"Well, chalk that one up to a win, Barnes. May not have gotten the job, but you scored a date with the hot boss. Cut yourself some slack for a few days; the hunt can begin anew next week."

 

Bucky lowers his eyes purposefully, licking at the edge of his spoon. "Well, actually, I did get that, too."

 

"Get what?" Sharon asks, confused.

 

"The job," Bucky replies flippantly.

 

Sharon is blank for a moment, and Bucky finds he can't keep a straight face anymore when she explodes. "You ass! That's the _first_ thing you should've told me!" She screams, and whacks Bucky so hard on the arm, he drops the spoon of ice cream into his lap.

 

Bucky hisses as the cold dessert hits his leg. "You realise you're getting these dry-cleaned for me now, right?" he says, dabbing at the melting mess unhappily.

 

"Of course, Buck," she says sweetly, "You'll need your good ass-pants for Saturday."

 

 

Suit references!

Bucky:

Steve:

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's not exactly hard-up to get a date... why did he have to ask his boss out?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved this AU just a little too much to let it go, so I thought up some more. I hope you like it! 
> 
> Ridiculously huge amounts of artistic license have been taken with Steve and Bucky's Visual Merchandising jobs. If you happen to work in VM, I'm making it all up. Please take it with a grain of salt :) 
> 
> I promised myself I wouldn't do anything else bad to Bucky in this. I also promised I would stop embarrassing him. I failed on both accounts. Sorry, Buckeroo!
> 
> Once again SO MANY THANKS to Slammie for being my beta. She is a magical unicorn creature. But if I've missed any corrections, my bad.

Bucky looks at his watch before dropping his cigarette to the pavement and stubbing it out quickly. It's still a good fifteen minutes before he's meant to meet his date, but the trendy Brooklyn bar that's serving as the location is filling up quickly, and he is anxious to get inside.

 

His former roommate, Rory, works as a bartender, and he'd managed to hold a little table off to the side for a short period of time; but Bucky would have to hurry up if he didn't want to lose it anyway, given the expected attendance on a Saturday night.

 

With practice, Bucky weaves through the patrons and finds the little table with two mismatched chairs that's meant to be 'charming' and 'unique'. Bucky scoffs. Rory tries to tell him this isn't a hipster bar, but it's the only location in the five boroughs that stocks all one hundred top brands of craft beers in the continental USA.

 

It's a fucking hipster bar.

 

Sure, there's an abundance of scarves and beards and man-buns and glasses without prescription lenses -- some with no lenses at all -- but the beer is good, the atmosphere is pretty decent, and it's a short cab ride back home.

 

Bucky tosses up whether to get a drink while he waits, but he's just sat down and doesn't feel like pushing his way to the bar right now, even though it's not far.

 

Under the guise of being polite and waiting, he decides to sit and play on his phone instead, alternately texting Sharon and running his hand through his hair.

 

 _At the bar waiting. Hipsters, hipsters everywhere_ , he texts Sharon.

 

 _What are you wearing?_ Sharon responds.

 

_Grey long-sleeved Henley, black jacket, pants, shoes._

_Pot, meet kettle_ _:p_. _Good ass-pants?_

 

 _Of course_ , Bucky replies with a little devil emoji.

 

His text conversation with Sharon is interrupted by a message from _Rogers cell_ , and Bucky immediately opens it.

 

_Nearly there, cab caught in traffic. Where will I meet you?_

Bucky taps out a message with his thumbs quickly.

_Walk to the back. On right by wall @ end of bar, little table :)_

He receives no reply, but that's not what gets his stomach in a bit of a twist.

 

Bucky's on a date (or _will_ be, when he gets there) with the boss of his brand new job.

 

He hadn't given too much thought to both scoring a date with a handsome guy and a job all in the same day, but now he's had some time to do so, the prospect seems awkward at best, ill-advised at worst.

 

What if the date goes _badly_? Bucky tends to be a pretty decent date, but given his previous track record with interacting with Steve, predictability is entirely thrown out the window.

 

He doesn't start until Monday, what if tonight crashes and burns so hardcore that he jeopardises his job? Sure, he's looked over and signed the contracts that Darcy sent through, but as with many jobs, he does have to go through a twelve-week probationary period.

 

During that time he can be let go for any reason without the company being worried that he can sue them.

 

Bucky chews on his lip, and tries to put that out of his mind. Steve just doesn't seem like the kind of guy to let him go if the date doesn't pan out, but he's working well in the team. Hell, Bucky tripped and grabbed the guy's dick during the handshake and _still_ got to finish the interview.

 

There's another potential outcome, though.

 

What if the date goes _well_?

 

That'd be nice and all, but he hasn't even gotten his foot in the door at Nordstroms yet, and he's already getting unprofessional with his boss? That's really not going to go down that well. This is his _dream job_ , the last thing he wants to do is start off on the wrong foot with corporate by screwing around.

 

Bucky's not exactly hard-up to get a date... why did he have to ask his boss out?

Bucky runs his hand through his hair and has a mild anxiety attack about these things, all while continuing to text Sharon. During this time, a large shadow is cast over him and the chair opposite scrapes against the floor. He looks up with a tremulous smile, only to have it melt away in confusion.

 

A man with strawberry blond, slightly wavy hair, and a dark five o'clock shadow slides into the chair opposite Bucky, a bottle in each hand. He places one in front of Bucky, taking a long pull of the remaining bottle.

 

"You looked lonely," the man says with a big smile, nodding towards the drink encouragingly.

 

The stranger pushes the bottle towards Bucky insistently, nearly tipping it over. Bucky stops it just in time, much to his relief. Because that'd be just _great_ , greeting Steve, shirt and pants soaked in beer.

 

 

Bucky gives his best courteous retail smile, pushing the bottle away from him decisively. "Thanks, but I'm fine." He looks back down at his phone, hoping the guy will get the hint.

 

"But you didn't just look lonely, you look _thirsty_ , too."

 

 _Click-bait at 12 o'clock. Provided refreshment,_ he texts Sharon. Her response is immediate.

 

_Ugh. Ratings?_

 

Bucky rolls his eyes and keeps typing thoughtfully. 'Click-bait' is their own personal code for people who might look mildly interesting, but not worth the investment of time in the long run.

 

_Looks 6/10. Clothes 7/10._

 

"I'm Ari," the man prompts, even though Bucky continues to ignore him. The brunet only looks up when Ari taps the screen of his smart phone obnoxiously, accidentally typing out random characters in the message field to Sharon.

 

 _Annoyance 8/10,_ he types.

 

"Do I get a name, or do I just call you 'hot, brooding guy?'

 

Bucky's lips thin, and he lets his thumbs do the talking. _This guy's moves are so old, they're rusty. Lucky I'm up to date on my tetanus shot._

 

 _LOL_ , Sharon replies.

 

Tearing his gaze away from his phone, Bucky arches one eyebrow, unimpressed. "That the best you can do, Ari?"

 

Ari laughs, seemingly delighted that Bucky used his name. "Cut me some slack! It takes cojones to walk up to a decent-looking guy and strike up a conversation!"

 

Bucky gives a miniscule shrug with one shoulder. That may be true, but there's always something to be said for trying to chip away at a clearly uninterested party.

 

"It may not've been the greatest line, but at least it got you talking to me," Ari says smugly, sprawling back in the chair. Bucky can't help giving him a modicum of respect for the sheer confidence, although he's not quite sure how much of the confidence is natural, and how much has come from the bottle that Ari keeps taking swigs from.

 

Ari's not entirely unattractive, but his personality is grating on Bucky's nerves. Added to the fact that he's waiting for his actual date to show up, Bucky is ready to get rid of him.

 

 _Time to 86 the click-bait, Buck,_ Sharon sends.

 

 _Read my mind,_ Bucky quickly replies.

 

Bucky sits up straight, but doesn't put his phone away. He doesn't want Ari to think he's anything more than a temporary distraction.

 

"I appreciate the drink, and the guts it took to come over and start talking to me, but I'm not interested. Thanks anyway," he ads.

 

Ari makes a dramatic disappointed face. "Don't be like that, you don't even know me!"

 

Bucky smirks. "Knowledge is not a prerequisite for not being interested."

 

The smirk stays on his face until he feels something weird on his leg. Bucky closes his eyes briefly. Yep. Ari is rubbing the inside of his ankle with one foot.

 

Ari leans forward. "I'm worth it. Come _onnnn_ ," he wheedles, "my queer-dar is going off the chart, here."

 

"And yet your 'fuck off' gauge seems to be completely busted," Bucky says as he draws his foot back. Ari has the nerve to look affronted.

 

Ari rolls his eyes dramatically. "Next thing you'll be saying is you're here waiting for someone."

 

"Well, actually..." a new voice cuts in, and both Bucky and Ari look up.

 

Steve Rogers, in all his studly glory, stands at Bucky's table. Both seated men immediately sit up straighter in their chairs.

 

Bucky knows he hasn't done anything wrong, but appearances can be deceiving. He gives a furtive glance to Ari, which ends up sticking, because for the first time since he sat down, Ari looks nervous.

 

And who wouldn't? Steve is standing there in a cerulean blue button-down that is fitted _just_ enough to allow everyone to see how muscular his torso is, sleeves rolled up to show powerful-looking forearms. The shirt is tucked into a pair of dark navy trousers, shiny black dress shoes and a black leather belt completing the ensemble.

 

He looks like he just stepped out of a Nordstroms display window. The fashion-lover and visual merchandiser in Bucky has a raging boner right now.

 

Bucky's eyes stray back to Steve, who has gone from staring disapprovingly at Ari, to warmly at him. The naked affection in his expression is slightly unusual, given that they've only met twice before. Bucky gets the feeling Steve might be playing it up a little for Ari's benefit.

 

"Hey," he says in a timbre that tingles Bucky down to his shoes. Steve reaches an arm out and gently cups Bucky's elbow.

 

Bucky goes with the movement and stands up. "Hey, Steve," he manages without his voice breaking.

 

Still holding his elbow, Steve leans in and presses a kiss to Bucky's cheek in greeting. The skin of his face heats up automatically, and he gets a decent whiff of a _very_ nice cologne. The whole situation is far more intimate than what he would've expected at the beginning of a first date.

 

Oh yeah, Steve is _definitely_ playing it up for Ari. Bucky reigns in the smirk, instead keeping his expression friendly and suitably receptive to Steve.

 

Not that he has to fake it all that much. Without any prior warning, they've been able to slip into this mini scenario with little effort. Moreover, Bucky doesn't mind the gentle lie, especially if he has the pleasure of watching the click-bait squirm.

 

Sure enough, Ari is fidgeting and grumbling in his chair, though he hasn't had the good sense to vacate it yet. Steve turns to look down at him, going from warm and inviting to stern and commanding in the space of a breath.

 

In the end, all it takes for Ari to move on is six little words:

 

"I believe you're in my seat."

 

Ari jumps up as though he's been stung, mumbling something about having somewhere else to be, and clears out.

 

As soon as he's out of the picture, Steve drops his hand slowly and gestures for Bucky to resume his seat. Bucky sits, placing both hands flat on the table for a second in a grounding gesture.

 

"I'm sorry for the overly-familiar greeting," Steve smiles apologetically, "but I overheard the last part of your conversation, and realised he was being a pest."

 

"That's okay," Bucky replies, slipping his phone into his jacket pocket. "It stopped me from telling him another few dozen times I wasn't interested."

 

Steve pauses for a moment, teeth making a little indent into his bottom lip, and the gesture is oddly endearing. "Not that I'm judging, because you _were_ being pretty clear about rebuffing him, but..."

 

"Why didn't I tell him flat out I was meeting someone?" Bucky finishes.

 

Steve gives a little smile. "I'm curious."

 

Bucky shrugs casually. "Whether I'm meeting someone or not, people should have the bare decency to acknowledge when someone explicitly says they're not interested. I shouldn't have to justify my non-interest by saying I have a date; dudes -- and ladies, mind you --shouldn't be douche-canoes and accept what I say without needing another reason to do so."

 

Not everyone agrees with his reasoning, but Bucky is silently pleased to see Steve nod in agreement. "I get that."

 

They lapse into a vaguely awkward silence for a moment, in which Steve's eyes slipped to the beer bottle in front of Bucky. He made a little gesture towards it. "Started without me?"

 

A little bubble of laughter burst from Bucky's lips, and it breaks the strange atmosphere. "Na. My 'friend' just brought that over with him, but I can't stand that brand, anyway. Swing and a miss."

 

Steve picks up the drinks menu that rests on the table and frowns as he starts flipping through the pages. There are so many choices the blond man looks overwhelmed.

 

"Well, since I've not been here before, and don't fancy spending an hour choosing a drink, maybe I can rely on your good taste to make a recommendation?"

 

Bucky flashes a grin. "D'you trust me?" It's meant as a cute remark, but comes out sounding remarkably like a dare.

 

Steve raises his hand to attract the attention of a passing waitress, who comes over, though he pauses before answering, "I leave myself in your capable hands."

 

Bucky's teeth dig a groove into his bottom lip at the vague implication. Flirting comes so easily to him, and maybe if he were on a date with anyone _but_ his future boss, he would give a bit more of a grin, maybe brush his fingers across Steve's, which are resting on the table.

 

He does none of these things. Instead, he looks up at the waitress. "Hi, Tina," he greets the young woman with the auburn hair piled messily on top of her head.

 

"Hi, Bucky. What can I get for you?" She looks from Bucky to Steve with professional curiosity.

 

Bucky gives Steve an appraising look. "How do you feel about coffee? And chocolate?"

 

"Both are necessary to the human condition," Steve replies mildly.

 

Bucky looks up to Tina and opens his mouth, but she smiles and makes a dismissive gesture. "I know, I know. You're lucky, we only just got our order delivered on Thursday."

 

Bucky grins. "Thanks, Tina, you're a gem." Tina rolls her eyes good-naturedly, but before she parts, Bucky stops her again, handing her the bottle that was left on the table. "Oh, and would you mind getting rid of this crap for me?"

 

"You're lucky you tip well," she replies, taking the offending bottle away.

 

Steve watches his exchange with an expression of bemusement on his face. "Do I want to know what you've gotten me into?"

 

"It's worth it, I guarantee."

 

"Oh yeah?" Steve leans forward, as though Bucky's imparting a secret to him.

 

"Yeah," Bucky mirrors the gesture, maintaining eye contact with those impossibly blue periwinkle eyes. "There's this beer out of Minnesota that's seasonal in October only, and it's amazing. I look forward to it every year."

 

One of Steve's eyebrows arched up. "That sounds great. And also... kind of hipster-y."

 

Bucky gives one shoulder a shrug. "At least I didn't say I liked it before it was cool." He leans back in his chair, displaying open body language and confidence. "Y'know... even though I just _did_."

 

Steve chuckles, the rich tenor of his voice cutting through the ambient noise around Bucky like a warm knife through butter.

 

Despite how busy the bar is, Tina arrives back at the table with a couple of long-necked bottles. She places them on the table. Bucky and Steve both reach for their wallets, but Bucky is a touch faster. He quickly separates a few bills for the bottles and for Tina, and deposits them on top of her tray. Tina gives him a bright smile and walks away, but Steve looks put out, wallet still open in his hands.

 

"Either you paid for mine, or they're going to make me load the dishwasher later," Steve comments.

 

"The first one," Bucky grins, picking up the bottle and tapping the cold rim against his lips. "You can buy the next round."

 

Mollified for the time being, Steve pockets his wallet and picks up the bottle in front of him with a dubious expression, labelled _Darkness_.

 

Bucky can't blame him. The black, red and white label has a detailed graphic of a man with red eyes, a large beard, and curved ram's horns and covered in flames. It certainly doesn't _look_ like the most inviting drink.

 

Steve swishes the bottle tentatively. "I hope you realise how much faith I'm putting in you right now."

 

Bucky grins, holding his bottle out. "You will never look at another Russian Imperial Stout once you've tasted this."

 

"I never looked at a Russian Imperial Stout _before_..." Steve studies the bottle a little longer, teeth chewing on his bottom lip for a few moments, "but okay." He reaches out to clink his bottle with Bucky's. "Cheers."

 

" _Vashe zrodovye*,_ " Bucky answers as they both take a sip at the same time.

 

Steve's eyebrows arch in surprise and he looks at the bottle again, wiping his lips with the back of one hand. "Wow, that's... really different."

 

"'Different' like 'good'? or 'different' like 'I'm second-guessing your job offer'?" It's a joke, but there is an element of real concern for Bucky.

 

"The first one," Steve says, licking his lips. "I never thought coffee and chocolate and beer would really go together..." He frowns. "There's another flavour in there, too, but I can't quite put my finger on it."

 

"That'd be the raisins," Bucky answers, and Steve's eyebrows go up again. "It's my own personal antidote to all things fucking pumpkin spice this month."

 

"I like how you think," Steve says, and takes another decent pull from the cold bottle. There is a quiet moment where they both sip and enjoy the taste of the beer.

 

Bucky's fingers slip over the condensation of his own bottle as he places it on the table. "So, uh... how was work?"

 

He wonders if this is a good subject for conversation, given he wants as few reminders that he is going to go work at Steve's company in a couple of days as possible. On the other hand, it _is_ a standard date question, and one he would ask if Steve weren't sitting across from him.

 

Now is not the time to start second-guessing himself.

 

 _Chill_ out _, Barnes,_ he tells himself sternly. _Stop freaking out._

 

If Steve notices Bucky's momentary weirdness, he doesn't mention it.

 

"Work was good. I just flew in from Charlotte this morning."

 

"North Carolina, huh? What's going on down there?" He gives a crooked little smile that he's been told by Sharon is _very_ attractive. "Or is it secret squirrel?"

 

Steve gives him a cute smile in return. "Nothing like that. Because they're a little further away, I was meeting with the team down there to get the jump on their holiday displays."

 

Bucky whistles. "Already?"

 

"Welcome to my life in retail."

 

Bucky leans forward, resting his elbows on the small table, cradling his chin in one hand. "Do you have to head off interstate frequently? I thought you could co-ordinate a lot from here."

 

"Yes and no... I _can_ do a lot from here, but most weeks I pay a visit to at least one state to visit a few stores. I get to each store minimum twice a year."

 

The way Steve answers, Bucky isn't sure if he's super keen on what would amount to a hefty amount of domestic travel. "That must get pretty tiring," Bucky hedges, "I mean, looking after the majority of the east coast like that."

 

Steve gives him a slightly weary smile, fingernails worrying at the label of his beer. "Well, the good news is that I have plenty of frequent flyer miles saved up for my annual vacation."

 

"Bonus," Bucky comments, and Steve nods.

 

"However," he continues, "sometimes I feel like I barely see the inside of my apartment. I love my job but occasionally I'd give it up to go back to when I had a smaller jurisdiction to look after -- like you'll have."

 

"Which jurisdiction's that?"

 

Steve counts off the states on his fingers: "Massachusetts, Delaware, New Jersey, Connecticut, Maine, New Hampshire and of course, New York."

 

Bucky is intensely curious about the details of his role and wants Steve to keep talking about it, but by the same token doesn't want to get into heavy work discussions on what's meant to be a date.

 

To that end, Bucky quickly replays the conversation in his head and picks out a different thread to pursue. "So where does Steve Rogers go on vacation, then? I'm guessing you possibly avoid the east since you travel there so much already?"

 

Steve perks up considerably, eyes bright, and Bucky gives a passing thought to the fact that he's so much more attractive when he smiles. "I'm heading to Eastern Europe in May. I've always wanted to sit in Red Square and sketch the Kremlin and St Basil's Cathedral."

 

Bucky sits up in his chair. "Really? That sounds fantastic. And May is a great time to visit; just before it starts to heat up too much."

 

Steve looks at him curiously. "You've been to Russia?"

 

"Guilty. Russian-Jewish grandparents still live in St Petersburg. Whenever my Russian starts to get a bit rusty on the phone to them, they demand I visit and beat it back into me. With love. And food." He pauses for effect. "And nagging."

 

"That's so great! And it definitely explains the beer choice." He leans forward eagerly on the table. "Maybe you'd have some recommendations for places to go? I've got a few ideas from one of the girls in the office, but I'm open to any suggestions."

 

"Sure. Moscow is great to visit, as is St Petersburg for the architecture. If you don't speak any Russian at all--"

 

"Not a word," Steve confirms.

 

"--I'd stick to the big cities. A translation book and a polite attitude will get you far."

 

"Got it," Steve says. "I have both of those things already. Well, I bought one, my mom gave me the other, but it still counts, right?"

 

Bucky can't help a smile. "It does." He pauses before saying more. "I have a few second-cousins in St Petersburg who love Americans, if you're interested in meeting any locals. They'd be happy to show you around."

 

Bucky wouldn't just offer up his family to anyone, but despite not knowing Steve very well, he gets the strong feeling that Vadim and Galina would get on with him brilliantly.

 

Well, he might not suggest Galina. He has a sneaking suspicion she'd like Steve a little _too_ much.

 

"I might just take you up on that offer," Steve grins. And yeah, he is _really_ attractive when he smiles. In a slight turn-your-legs-to-jelly kind of way.

 

Lucky Bucky's sitting down.

 

_Lucky Bucky._

 

"Also," Bucky continues and clears his throat from where it slightly breaks, "If you're not married to the idea of Russia for your whole vacation, I'd really suggest Prague or Kiev, as well, if you're interested in drawing architecture."

 

Steve cocks his head to the side. "I had been thinking of other locations, but hadn't gotten as far as to pick them just yet." He gives a little grin that is way more charming than it has any right to be. "Wouldn't want to be my tour guide would you?"

 

Bucky laughs, pitched slightly higher than normal. "I doubt I'm getting any vacation time six months after I start work."

 

"Too bad you don't know the boss personally," Steve smirks cheekily.

 

"Uhhh.." Bucky's brain falters for the right answer. His eyes flicker from side to side, trying to read his imaginary playbook of _what to say next_.

 

Steve sits up straight away, and puts his hands out in a conciliatory gesture. "Bucky, it was just a joke. I mean, it's a great idea, but not really appropriate. I'm sorry for having a little tease at your expense." He gives Bucky an apologetic smile, as Bucky's heart rate begins to slow down.

 

Bucky awkwardly attempts to laugh off his minor panic. "I was just thinking this was escalating a little quickly."

 

Steve clasps his hands in front of him and meets Bucky's eyes steadily. "I hope I haven't made you feel uncomfortable. My best friend tells me all the time my sense of humour needs a bit of work."

 

"And what do you usually say to that?"

 

Steve's lips curl slightly. "I usually overtake him on our morning jog and make some crack about him running slower than a ninety-year-old granddad."

 

Bucky relaxes a little more into his seat, nerves starting to properly settle. "Wow, I think you could be a little shit under that all-American look, Steve Rogers," he says without thinking.

 

And Bucky's hackles go up again instantly, as he squeezes his eyes shut in a cringe. What the ever-loving flip-flop-fuckity- _fuck_ is he doing calling his boss a _little shit_? Seems like he really _is_ forever cursed to fuck up around this guy. His fingernails dig into the rough timber of the underside of the table top.

 

Fucking _fantastic_. He's going to get fired before he starts, or a beer splashed in his face -- such nice beer, too -- or he's just going to screw up the date with the decent guy that's been going rather well until he sticks both his slightly overpriced leather Rockports in his mouth and--

 

The sound of warm laughter brings Bucky's mental tangent to a screeching halt, and has him snapping his eyes open and back up to meet Steve's.

 

"Worse things have been said about me," Steve agrees. "Usually not to my face, but definitely worse."

 

Bucky lets out a shaky breath. "You're not offended?" he queries.

 

Steve cocks his head to the side. "Bucky, you said worse things to me after having known me for _ten seconds_. Why would what you just said offend?"

 

"Because I--"

 

And whatever Bucky is about to say gets lost when he flings his right arm in an expansive gesture, knocking over his bottle of _Darkness_. Steve pushes back from the chair instinctively so he doesn't get bathed in the frothy liquid as it splashes out and runs across the table, and Bucky half-stands, spewing forth a litany of curses. He looks frantically for something to mop up the spill.

 

"Son of a mother-fucking-- goddamn piece of maggot-ridden _shit--"_

Tina appears out of nowhere with a bar towel, dropping it onto the surface quickly to soak up as much beer as possible. It does a decent job, but she needs more assistance. "I'll be back with another towel," she adds quickly.

 

Bucky looks helplessly to Steve, who finds a stack of abandoned cocktail napkins to wipe the table and help with some of the excess suds. But with his head lowered, Bucky can't make out his face and get a read at all.

 

"Fuck," he mutters to himself again. Tina chooses that moment to return and take over cleaning from Steve. "I'll clean it up, I'm so sorry, Tina," Bucky apologises.

 

"It's okay, Bucky, it was definitely an accident. You'd _never_ spill this beer on purpose."

 

Bucky wants to laugh hysterically, but it's Steve who actually chuckles out loud.

 

"Just Bucky trying to be memorable, I think," he says with a good-natured grin.

 

"I think I've been memorable enough for five lifetimes when it comes to you," Bucky admits, not that he wants any reminders of his previous failings. _Epic_ failings.

 

"Keeps me on my toes. Literally," Steve wiggles his eyebrows a couple of times in quick succession and Bucky thinks it's so dorky it's actually _incredibly attractive_.

 

Fuck his fucking life _soooooo_ fucking much.

 

Tina finishes cleaning the table, drops some paper on the floor to soak up the last of the beer, and offers to get him another drink. Bucky considers it, before asking her to hold off for just a minute.

 

With the beer mopped up, and Tina gone back to the bar, Bucky lets out a beleaguered moan and presses his forehead to the surface of the table.

 

"Bucky?" Steve asks, and there's a detectable note of concern to his voice. Bucky can't quite bear to look him in the face.

 

"This is really not going all that well," he mumbles.

 

"I don't know... it's kind of interesting, to be honest."

 

"Interesting like a car crash," Bucky retorts.

 

Bucky feels a gentle tap on the back of his head, and it encourages him to sit up. He does, albeit reluctantly, rubbing absently at the slight pink and damp mark on his forehead, where it made contact with the table.

 

"You're not doing as badly as you seem to think," Steve says.

 

"I don't even know how you can say that at this point. The shit that keeps happening to me is going to be social nightmare fuel for weeks, and you just keep--" Bucky stops, unsure of how to articulate how Steve seems to be effortlessly handsome and generally perfect. He chooses just to vaguely gesture to all of Steve. It seems to get the message across.

 

Steve laughs a little. "I'm really not all, er..." and repeats Bucky's gesture, directing it at himself.

 

"I'd have to find out you're a mass-murderer to be proven wrong at this stage," Bucky says.

 

Steve sits back in his chair, eyes slightly narrowed with scrutiny. Bucky takes the opportunity to rub at the stress-ache that's begun to make his left temple throb.

 

"Do you want a do-over?" Steve asks.

 

"God, if only we could," Bucky groans.

 

What he doesn't expect is for Steve to nod, get out of his chair, and promptly walk away.

 

Mouth slightly ajar, the throb turns into a full-blown sharp stab.

 

Somehow, all 6'2" of Steve melts into the crowd. Bucky half-stands. Is he meant to follow? Stay? Has he just been abandoned?

 

Just as he's about to leave the table, the phone in his pocket vibrates. Reaching into his jacket, he pulls out the smart phone where _Rogers cell_ has messaged him. Bucky doesn't even need to swipe it open to read, as it's only two words:

 

_Stay there_

Feeling quite confused, Bucky lowers himself back into his seat and runs a nervous hand through his hair.

 

Not knowing what else to do, Bucky opens Sharon's message thread back up.

 

_Click-bait ditched. Date started well but I did a thing again and he just disappeared._

The reply is near immediate, once again.

 

_OHMYGOD BUCKY WHAT BODY PART DID YOU GRAB NOW._

Even as Bucky starts to type, his phone keeps chiming.

_DID YOU JUST GET DITCHED??????_

_I CAN BE THERE IN TEN MINUTES_

_OR I COULD BE IF YOU TOLD ME WHERE YOU WERE MEETING HIM IN THE FIRST PLACE, YOU SECRETIVE LITTLE SHIT_

_ARE YOU IN BROOKLYN AND DO I NEED TO BRING A SHOVEL_

 

Bucky laughs helplessly. If somehow he has screwed up the date, at least he knows Sharon will help with the inevitable misery and self-recrimination.

 

_No body parts grabbed. He made a joke but I took it a bit too seriously and panicked. Kinda insulted him and spilled beer everywhere. He asked if I wanted a do-over and disappeared, but texted for me to stay._

 

The little ellipsis denoting Sharon typing keeps him occupied.

 

_Maybe The Stud needed a moment to regroup?_

Bucky bites his lip. _I have no idea. Maybe I'll find out soon? What else can I do?_

 

The last question is rhetorical; he doesn't expect Sharon to magic up an answer for him. He sends it anyway, just as a large shadow is cast over him.

 

Bucky's tongue hits the back of his clenched teeth. If it's Ari again, he's sure as shit not in the mood to give him a polite brush-off this time.

 

He glances up with a hardened expression, for it to completely change into surprise.

 

Steve is there, smiling, holding a beer in each hand.

 

"I'm sorry, I'm wondering if I could join you?" He asks politely.

 

"Uhhh... sure?" Bucky replies, really not sure what the hell's happening. Why is he asking, like he hasn't just already been sitting there for the past fifteen minutes?

 

"Thanks!" Steve gives him a bright smile, and slides into the chair. He places the two beers down in the centre of the table.

 

"Hope you don't mind, but I got us a couple of beers."

 

Bucky frowns a little. "Not at all..." He rests an elbow on the table, palm up in a clearly confused gesture. "Sorry... what's going on?"

 

Steve looks theatrically embarrassed. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't introduce myself." He sticks out his hand, and Bucky looks at it suspiciously. "Hi there. I'm Steve Rogers. I have issues with authority and following instructions. I tend to be kind of self-righteous, a bit of a shit-stirrer, and I don't like to admit when I'm wrong."

 

Bucky's eyes widen, though his mouth widens further into a large smile, dimples making grooves in the sides of his cheeks.

 

He gets it. He _gets it._

 

Steve is giving him the ultimate do-over, and being smooth as fuck at the same time as helplessly corny.

 

Ooohhh shit, but Bucky likes him.

 

Bucky reaches out and takes Steve's hand slowly. "Nice to meet ya, Steve, I'm Bucky Barnes. Takes me a while to get angry, but when I do, it's explosive and I hold grudges. I can't stop babbling when I'm nervous, and I _definitely_ swear way too fucking much."

 

"I'll drink to that," Steve says, picking up his beer and holding it out. He hasn't brought bottles of _Darkness_ again; rather, he has picked up another beer that Bucky is quite partial to, one locally produced. He resolves to leave Tina the most fantastic tip for being an amazing wingman, and raises his bottle of _Brooklyn Brand Lager_ , touching its neck to Steve's bottle.

 

"Cheers," he says as they both take a good, long, pull.

 

***  
  
The date goes far better from that point. Bucky is finally able to put all the shit of the past two meetings behind him, and is able to be the charming man and excellent date that he knows he can be.

 

They spend a really long time talking about a lot of different things. Bucky finds out that Steve studied art and design at university, and is a qualified graphic designer. He sucks at drawing people but loves to depict architecture and buildings -- hence the planned trip to Europe -- and has a great sense of spatial awareness which helps him with his job. He also commutes from Brooklyn to Manhattan because he's never found a place on the island that feels like home. He's an only child with a mother who still slogs away as an emergency room nurse.

 

Bucky, in turn, tells him about his large family and many sisters, how his youngest sibling Rebecca is attending Columbia and making him very proud and jealous... how he used to study Economics until he realised it was killing his soul, so he switched to interior design. How that stupid retail job he did merely to support himself while he studied ended up becoming his life.

 

And much, much more. His phone keeps vibrating with obvious texts from Sharon, but he ignores all of them. In fact, Bucky forgets to drink half the time, he's so interested in talking to Steve, and listening to what he has to say. The man turns out to be an entertaining conversationalist.

 

Eventually, as it gets later and the bar begins to fill up more, they decide to call it a night. Steve's a bit tired from his early flight this morning, and Bucky's adrenalin is ebbing, leaving him feeling pretty exhausted.

 

They decide to split a cab, as Bucky's currently living in Carroll Gardens, and Steve's only a short trip a bit further west in Red Hook.

 

The date has been exceptional after a shaky start, but it's in the brief pauses during the ride home that Bucky's predicament slowly starts to sink in.

 

He likes Steve. Likes him enough to want to go on another date with him.

 

But come Monday, he'll be turning up to work and Steve will be his boss.

 

His attraction to Steve doesn't quite trump his unwillingness to start a new job already hooking up with the boss.

 

But it's been a _really good date._

 

Bucky takes out his phone, skims the litany of unread messages from Sharon to say: _Date 8/10 would do again. Dnt want 2 b dating boss tho. WHAT DO?_

 

Hating himself a little for the abbreviations and use of net speak because of his urgency, Bucky hopes a reply comes soon.

 

The cab pulls up at Bucky's brownstone. Steve gets out, giving the driver some money and asking him to wait for a few minutes, because of course -- _of course --_ he insists on walking Bucky up to his front door.

 

Bucky jangles his keys but makes no attempt to unlock the door. On the same date with another person, he might've planted one on his partner's mouth, or even invited them upstairs for a coffee that may've been a lead-up to making out or sex.

 

But he's not on a date with just anyone. Hey, new boss.

 

"I had a great time tonight," Steve says, filling in the silence.

 

"Me too," Bucky answers sincerely. Because he really, really did.

 

"I know this great little Italian restaurant a few blocks away from my apartment. It's so good you wouldn't be remiss in thinking the reason I live there is purely because of the proximity to this place..." he gives Bucky a hopeful smile. "Interested?"

 

Bucky smiles, but strain begins to show almost immediately, and he rubs at the corded muscles behind his neck. He hates that Steve's smile falters with his reaction.

 

"It's okay if you're not," Steve says, and Bucky dies a little inside because _he really is_ \-- "You're not obligated to. Hell, you don't even have to give me a _reason_ if you don't want to. I just. I enjoyed getting to know you a lot."

 

This is the absolute worst. "I did as well," Bucky says immediately, "and I absolutely am interested in Italian with you. It's just--" he stops and gives a gusty sigh. "I am really torn up about going on dates with my boss." Steve opens his mouth to say something, but Bucky keeps talking. He has to get this out or he might dig himself into a bigger hole. "On the one hand, I think you're pretty fantastic, and I want to see you again. On the other hand... I'm only just starting at Nordstroms. I don't wanna be unprofessional before I've even started! Or worse, have people wonder if this is why I got the job, y'know? I mean, you _did_ hire me before I asked you out, and as much as I like you, I wouldn't have asked you if I'd gotten the job offer first, because it just feels like it might be too much of a messy situation and I've even been texting Sharon to ask her what she thinks I should do, and--

 

"Bucky, you're babbling," Steve cuts in, a minute smile curving his lips.

 

"--and I'm babbling," Bucky finishes morosely, running a hand through his hair anxiously.

 

They stare at each other in silence for a few moments, one of them significantly more maudlin than the other.

 

"So what did Sharon advise?" Steve asks, and Bucky is surprised at the question.

 

"I'm not sure," he admits, "she hasn't answered me yet."

 

As if on cue, there's a buzz as his phone vibrates in his pocket. Steve raises his eyebrows expectantly and Bucky twitches. "What, you want me to look now?"

 

"Might make you feel better. We can go with whatever Sharon decides, if you want. No harm, no foul." Steve is actually so calm, it's nearly irritating.

 

Bucky retrieves his phone from his jacket pocket and swipes it open.

 

There's only two short sentences in the message, but Bucky somehow feels a little better. A soft smile curls his lips, his shoulders drop from their tense position around his ears.

 

"What does it say?" Steve asks, leaning forward to show interest, without actually intruding and reading over Bucky's shoulder.

 

Bucky doesn't trust himself to be able to read the words out loud without messing them up, so he shifts his grip on the phone and holds it out for Steve to read.

 

_Don't date your boss. Date Steve_

 

Steve's eyes crinkle a little in the corners. "Good advice," he offers. "You going to follow it?"

 

"I'm thinking about it," Bucky says softly, a smile tugging insistently at the corner of his mouth.

 

Steve scrutinises the message again, pointing at the screen. "There are words under your thumb," he says, pointing to the part of the screen that Bucky has been covering. And with good reason.

 

"Your imagination," Buck says, pulling the phone away.

 

"I feel like they might be adding much-needed context to her decision, though," Steve says. "Are we going to end the date on factual inaccuracies?"

 

Bucky lets out a little sigh. If anything, this might alleviate the sudden weight of... whatever this is... that has settled in the air around them. He grudgingly moves his thumb away and shows Steve.

 

"'The Stud'?" he repeats incredulously. "She calls me 'Steve The Stud'?"

 

"Take it up with her, I have nothing to do with it."

 

"So you don't think I'm kinda cute, then?" Steve asks, and Bucky facepalms.

 

Steve begins talking as Bucky is massaging his temples in slightly over-exaggerated frustration. "In all seriousness, though, I don't want to make you uncomfortable," he says. "If you think dating someone at your place of employment is going to be too much, I understand that. I also won't hold that decision against you in any way, or ask you out again if you don't want me to." He pauses, making sure Bucky is making eye contact with him. "But make no mistake, I would _very_ much like to take you out again."

 

Those periwinkle blue eyes do things to Bucky's insides, and he sighs. "Where are you at now?" Steve asks softly.

 

"You're making it really difficult for me to say 'no'," Bucky answers. He's already running scenarios through his head, about how to date his boss and not have it look seedy to everyone.

 

Steve taps his index finger against his lips. "Would it help you to know that while I'm the managing coordinator and set the over-reaching proposals, I don't actually oversee you and your team personally? All that's done by the supervisor of your zone, Phil."

 

Bucky freezes, before letting out a disgusted exclamation. " _Now_ you tell me!"

 

"Well, it would've been _kinda_ unethical for me to accept your invitation -- especially after just hiring you -- if I did have anything directly to do with you, y'know?"

 

Bucky pushes a chuckling Steve none-too-gently in the chest. "I've been stressing over this for _two days_ ," he spits out.

 

"You never asked," Steve points out, sort of smugly.

 

"You really _are_ a little shit," Bucky exclaims.

 

"You _did_ already call me out on that pretty early in the date, if you recall. I never denied it."

 

"What am I going to do with you?" Bucky asks himself aloud, shaking his head in disbelief.

 

"Come get Italian with me next week?" Steve answers the question, eyes trained unwaveringly on him.

 

Biting his bottom lip, Bucky tilts his head to the side. "Is it really that good?"

 

"D'you trust me?" Steve counters, one brow cocked.

 

Bucky gives his head a rueful little shake. "Yeah, okay."

 

Steve's smile is like a sunrise. "Great. I'll see you Monday?"

 

"Monday." Bucky's skin feels prickly under Steve's gaze.

 

Steve shoots a glance over his shoulder at the cab still waiting in the street for him. "I'd better head off before he gouges me too harshly."

 

"Good idea," Bucky says, spine stiffening when Steve leans in and cups his elbow, much like he did when arriving at the bar to confuse and disorient Ari. He leans in and stops a respectable -- but still close -- distance away from Bucky's face.

 

"May I?" he asks.

 

Bucky inhales deeply, smelling Steve's aftershave again, and it is _good_.

 

"Why the hell not," Bucky grins, and is still grinning as Steve leans in that last distance, lips come to touch his. He can't help it; his eyes flutter closed at the contact.

 

It's not a long kiss, there's no tongue or anything that makes it remotely dirty, but it's still spectacular nonetheless. Steve's other hand comes to rest briefly on his waist, and Bucky feels oddly revered.

 

All too soon, Steve pulls back. Bucky takes a moment to press his lips together, savouring the moment, before opening his eyes. Steve's still touching his waist and elbow, but he's pulled back enough for Bucky to see his little smile.

 

"Here's hoping that brings up the rating of the date from 8 to something higher," Steve says, gently letting his hands fall away from Bucky.

 

"What are you-- _oh._ " Bucky can't quite place what Steve's talking about until he remembers in the text before Sharon's he rated the date 8/10. As he realises this, Steve backs off down the stairs of his brownstone with a shit-eating grin.

 

"You are the actual fucking worst, Rogers," Bucky calls out to him, not quite able to disguise the laugh in his tone.

 

"But at least a 9.5 now, right?" Steve replies as he gets into the cab. He waves as the cab pulls away from the sidewalk, and Bucky shakes his head.

 

With a jangle of his keys, Bucky unlocks his door, planning on a long shower and some quality time with Netflix before bed, when his phone vibrates again.

 

Expecting _another_ message from Sharon, Bucky pulls out his phone and swipes it open without really looking. It's not until he reads the message that he realises it's definitely not Sharon.

 

_From: Rogers Cell_

_As far as first dates go, I'd rate it (and you) a stone-cold 10/10._

 

 

 

* To your health

 

Suit references!

 

Bucky:

 

Steve:

 

And extra bonus... Ari:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, both beers are real. Don't ask me about them, though. I don't drink beer.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's finding his feet at his new job in Visual Merchandising, juggles a relationship with his boss, and finds out plenty of gossip from his old workplace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends, and welcome back to this story :) I always wanted to tell a bit more from this universe, and had some ideas, but nothing solid enough to really pursue, and it didn't necessarily have a direction. 
> 
> And then ao3 user InTheArmsOfAThief came along, and was basically a huge badass and detailed this amazing idea about what happened at Macy's with Pierce after Bucky left, and it was just what my ideas needed! So with much pleasure, I present to you their ideas and mine, which together, make a really nice, well-rounded chapter!
> 
> Thank you SO much for you detailed and creative comment, I really hope you like the execution of it! 
> 
> It's one of the reasons I appreciate your comments so much; you never know what will spark an idea! Speaking of comments (on this, and my other fics) I am slowly-but-surely getting around to answering them all. I figure, if you have the time to leave me one, I sure as hell am going to make time to say thank you. I appreciate every single word, thank you again.
> 
> I have a passing familiarity with Visual Merchandising and experience in retail, but many details of the companies and practices described are of my own devising. Lots of things were made up to suit the direction of the story, so there will be details that aren't terribly accurate, but necessary for the spirit of my story. So I hope you forgive!
> 
> Finally, as ALWAYS, this chapter would be disjointed and not nearly as good if it weren't for the patience and ideas of my awesome bestie, Sarah. Forever my MVP.

Three months into working at Nordstroms, Bucky feels like he finally knows what it's like to get up in the morning and look forward to going to work.

His probationary period ends with a quick meeting with Steve and his supervisor, Phil. Bucky's expecting some kind of formal affair, but it turned out to be a completely innocuous catch-up in the break room.

 

He's making coffee when both Steve and Phil walk in.

 

"Hey, Boss," Bucky greets Phil cheerfully, and it's funny because the man desperately just wants to be known purely as 'Phil'. Steve smirks.

 

Phil twitches, but knows Bucky's just doing it to mess with him. "James," he replies blandly, and Bucky will hand it to him, he knows how to dish it as well as take it. Steve's expression is one of calm, but Bucky can see the slight movement of his lips where he's pursing them.

 

Because all of Nordstroms knows him as 'Bucky'. He never has to wear a tag that says 'James' ever again. Bucky gives them both a little grin in response. Good-natured banter enjoyed by all is never a bad thing.

 

"So," Phil begins again, clearing his throat, "your probationary period is up."

 

Bucky's hands freeze in his action abruptly, and he looks at the two men before mentally telling himself not to drop anything. It's hard not to suddenly be wary. He'd been doing what he thought to be pretty solid work, and surely they'd let him go in an office rather than the break room if they were unhappy, right?

 

"Seems like," Bucky answers, carefully putting his coffee press down.

 

"Phil's been telling me what a great job you've been doing," Steve puts in, and Bucky feels a little relief.

 

"I really like working here," he replies, hoping he doesn't sound too desperate.

 

"It shows," Phil says, "you've gelled well with the rest of the team, and they're all reporting that your work standard and attention to detail are excellent. Even Natasha."

 

Bucky gives a little smile. "That's just because she can't say anything bad about me in Russian because I'll understand her," he quips, and both Steve and Phil chuckle.

 

"Don't sell yourself short; winning Natasha over isn't easy," Phil says. "We just wanted to check in and make sure you're happy to stay on, because we'd love to keep you on the team."

 

Bucky snorts and nearly knocks his coffee mug off the counter, to save it just in time. He narrows his eyes at Steve, who bites his lip just that little harder. He's standing just behind Phil, so Phil can't see his stupid face.

 

"Sorry," Bucky says, sweeping up some spilt coffee grounds with his hands. "Are you kidding me? Of course I do!" He takes a deep breath, bringing his enthusiasm -- and wild hand gestures -- under control. "I'm very happy to have a place on your team, Phil."

 

Phil gives him a genial smile. "Excellent. You don't have to do anything extra, this was just a formality to let you know you're now a member of the team with no further stipulations."

 

Bucky looks to Steve, who finally cracks his face into a smile. "Good to have you here, Bucky," he says, squeezing Bucky's shoulder with a warm hand.

 

"It is eminently good to be here," Bucky replies, the relief flooding his system.

 

"By the way, Steve, I need to talk to you about a few tweaks to the winter displays..." Phil starts up, and Bucky knows Steve has to go. He gives Bucky an apologetic smile and lets Phil take him out of the break room.

 

Because Bucky's always been a little dramatic, he sinks to the floor in relief.

 

***  
  
Rather than making him slack off at all, the confirmation he is now a permanent salaried employee makes Bucky knuckle down even harder. He goes home exhausted, but so happy.

 

The frequent flier miles start piling up as well, as he and the team -- Natasha, Clint, Thor, and Phil -- start flying to locations around the Northeast to show Bucky around the stores he's going to be outfitting, at the same time gearing them up for the last quarter, which will entail Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas.

 

A lot of his training is hands on, learning as he goes. The team is given a set design plan -- usually devised by Steve -- but both Steve and Phil seem to be okay with minor tweaks along the way, which works for Bucky. Steve's ideas are incredibly well thought out and modern, but occasionally, an idea occurs to Bucky; sometimes when he's looking at the layouts, sometimes when they hit the actual store.

 

Rather than being close-minded and negative towards new ideas, the VM team is made up of creatives who love to feed off one another. Many times, Bucky's thoughts are accepted and added. If they're not, he's not made to feel bad; there's usually a particular reason why, and Bucky finds that it's a great learning experience.

 

So Bucky _really_ likes his team. If you're going to be jetting off to cities and working on refitting multiple departments at 3am, it's good to enjoy who he's working with.

 

Natasha is stoic, and doesn't give too much away, but the more time Bucky spends around her the better he gets at reading her. She's incredibly warm and caring to those she considers 'her people', and is a pillar of terrifying strength. When Phil's not around, she takes charge and nobody yet has had the balls to refuse her.

 

Clint comes across like he doesn't actually know what's going on around him, but nothing could be further from the truth. He delights in being underestimated, that way people don't realise that he sees _everything_ around him. One of the reasons he does so well is that he thinks outside the box. People will look at displays from the front or the sides and leave it at that. Clint goes up to the third floor and looks down, and tells them it's horrible from a height, and things need to change.

 

Thor is the muscle. He does have an eye for display, too, but a big part of the reason he's there is some of the fixtures and displays they have to move are heavy and cumbersome. He proudly says he took Steve's place when Steve got promoted. Bucky tries not to get distracted by the thought of Steve lifting and moving heavy objects around, though watching Thor do it... well, it isn't a hardship. He's a great guy with a booming voice and can drink everyone under the table.

 

And there's Phil. Clint calls him 'Uncle Phil' to annoy him. He has a dry sense of humour, sort of dresses like he's in the secret service, and can appear a little bland. But he's highly organised and incredibly efficient. He has them sticking to a tight schedule and never missing a beat, and is amazing at bringing Steve's visions for the departments to life.

 

It could've been so daunting to start work with this weirdly mismatched and talented bunch, but Bucky stopped feeling like the new guy about a month into the job. Now half the time Thor forgets that he hasn't been there for years, and they have at least one group bar night in every state they visit.

 

And then there's Steve.

 

They're still dating, which is nice. It's actually _better_ than nice, it's just one of many things that's improved about Bucky's life since leaving the Fulton St Macy's. Steve continues to be funny and knowledgeable and creative and incredibly gorgeous.

 

Bucky thought it might be a little weird to be dating him, but it turns out they don't cross paths much at work, and when they do, it's purely business. Phil's team has a weekly strategy meeting that Steve tries to attend, but he only usually gets to one in every two.

 

Often, Steve so busy travelling, or Bucky's on the road, they sometimes might not see each other either in our outside of work for a week or so. At work, there's the occasional chat in passing, or Phil will send Bucky to Steve's office to drop off some papers, and Bucky will take five minutes to sit on the corner of Steve's desk and make small talk... But everything's very civil. Very professional.

 

Outside of work, however, things progress nicely. They each have an abiding love of food and have neither the inclination nor the skill to cook anything complex themselves, so they eat out a lot, canvassing the best places in both of their neighbourhoods. Steve maintains his love of Italian, Bucky tends to veer towards Korean BBQ and spicy Asian dishes.

 

They try to limit work-talk, but have a tendency to get into animated discussions about displays and aesthetics when they go past store windows. A rousing argument on whether a particular Old Navy display is 'cute and sweet' or 'disgustingly kitsch' ends up with Bucky calling Steve a 'moth-eaten sack of rancid birdshit'. Steve just laughs at him, and they forego any further shopping to go back to Steve's place and have athletic sex.

 

Sufficed to say, everything in Bucky's life is travelling pretty well, for once.

 

Sometime early into his fourth month working, he's having lunch with Natasha at her desk because it's too fucking cold out to leave the building, when she fixes him with a very particular look and says "What's your opinion on dating co-workers?"

 

Bucky's face freezes for a moment, and he nearly chokes on his sandwich. "Is this your way of asking me out? Because your delivery sucks."

 

" _Please_. I could do way better than you." She glances down very deliberately, poking at her salad. "Steve Rogers just walked in and looked at you."

 

Bucky doesn't turn around, because that would be way too obvious. "It's a free country," he says, swallowing hastily and taking another large bite of his bread.

 

"Not just looked, _Looked_. With a capital 'L'," Natasha insists.

 

"Oh," Bucky remarks calmly, because he really has nothing else to say.

 

"What do you think of him? He's pretty hot, yeah?"

 

Bucky cocks a brow. "How do you know I'm even interested in guys? Way to make assumptions."

 

"I've seen you watch Thor lug an eighty pound box of shelf fixtures like you're looking at a pizza."

 

"Big deal. _Phil_ watches Thor lug eighty pound boxes around," Bucky fires back.

 

"Yea, but _Phil_ doesn't bite his bottom lip when he does."

 

Well, shit. "Lucky guess," Bucky mutters, and Natasha smiles.

 

"So. Steve Rogers, hot or not?"

 

"Hot, I guess," he admits reluctantly.

 

"He's a really nice guy. Very smart. Always good to the staff. Funny in a weird, old-fashioned way. Like, _grandpa_ jokes." Natasha cocks an eyebrow. "Want me to put in a good word for you?"

 

Bucky keeps it together, because he will not cry, damnit. "Wouldn't that be a bit weird? Dating our boss and all?" he manages to get out.

 

"Sure. If you started dating Phil."

 

Bucky makes a weird face. "Uh, what?"

 

Natasha rolls her eyes, and speaks as if she's talking to a six year old. " _Phil_ is our boss. Steve's the Managing Coordinator; big picture stuff. We don't really answer to him unless something's gone seriously wrong."

 

"But he interviewed me," Bucky frowns thoughtfully.

 

"Only because Phil was away with us in Connecticut. I was there when he phoned to give him the rundown on you. Phil was the one that green-lit your hiring, because the regional supervisors get to choose who they want working on their teams. If he'd been in the state, you would've had Phil in that room."

 

Remembering his interview, and what happened on it, Bucky has an impromptu coughing fit. It could've gone very, _very_ differently.

 

Natasha pats Bucky on the back and lets him get his breath back. "So, Steve. Yay or nay?"

 

Bucky exhales slowly. "If you don't think it'd be weird... Yes, I guess?" He allows a little smile. "He seems a pretty decent guy."

 

The redhead gives him a mysterious smile. "Leave it with me."

 

On the weekend, with neither of them having to fly to another part of the country, Bucky's over Steve's apartment for dinner. He's digging into his ravioli -- from Steve's favourite Italian place because the guy just _can't_ cook -- when Steve drops the knowledge bomb.

 

"I had a very interesting chat with Natasha yesterday," he begins, and the ravioli falls off Bucky's fork before it makes it to his mouth.

 

"Oh?" Bucky remarks, trying and failing to get that damned piece between his lips, earning exactly zero smooth points.

 

"Mhm," Steve says as he pours them both a glass of wine, watching Bucky struggle with amusement. "Seems that she thinks you're a decent guy and a bit cute and would probably be up for it if I asked you out, so I should get off my ass and do it."

 

Bucky puts his fork down. "Or what?"

 

Steve picks up his wine glass. "Or I should 'stop walking into a room and glancing at you like I'm a cop and you're the last glazed donut on the shelf'."

 

"Wow, that's impressively descriptive."

 

Steve arches a brow. "You don't sound surprised."

 

"Na," Bucky says as he picks up his fork again. "She said she was going to put in a good word for me to someone who is 'funny in an old-fashioned way. With grandpa jokes.' End quote."

 

They look at each other and start laughing. They've been so professional at work, and it's surprising it's taken this long for anything at all to be picked up. Which, Bucky supposes is an eminently good thing.

 

When they stop laughing, Bucky thinks of a good question. "So, clearly the team won't think it's weird if we're seeing one another... what do we say to Natasha? Do we tell her we're already...?"

 

Steve shakes his head. "No. Let her think she set us up. Nat fancies herself something of a matchmaker. She set up Thor with Darcy's friend, Jane, and found Phil a lovely woman who plays in an orchestra... If people think _she_ made it happen, they won't question it -- or her -- at all."

 

"Natasha has some serious office mojo, then," Bucky taps a finger to his lips thoughtfully.

 

"I'm not one hundred percent she wasn't hired out of some background shady Russian mafia deal," Steve says with a smirk, "but the fact is, she's amazing at what she does. So maybe it's just the power of her personality."

 

Steve's plan works without a hitch. A week after Natasha's encouraging pep talk with Steve, she sits down again for lunch with Bucky. Bucky gets to admit that Steve asked him out, and he agreed. Natasha looks like the cat that ate the canary, showing way more teeth in her smile than Bucky has ever seen before -- and quite frankly, ever wants to see again.

 

It definitely works in their favour; the new situation means Bucky doesn't have to be quite so militant about watching his time with Steve around work, but by mutual agreement, they don't engage in anything remotely couple-y at the office. Steve has explained that while the company doesn't frown on office relationships, they aren't flaunted, either. Bucky's fine with that, but it is nice that Steve can come and have a chat and touch his shoulder when he's talking to Thor, and there's nothing weird about it.

 

The whole team -- through Natasha -- end up finding out, but Bucky is fine with that information, too. He likes not having to hide it from the people he spends the most time with; it's nice to not have to lie, be vaguely obtuse, or feel like he's got a 'dirty little secret'. Natasha makes a comment one day that his and Steve's good moods tend to sync up, and that it was a bit cute. Bucky grins and maybe gets a little bashful.

 

A few other scattered people know about their relationship, including Darcy from front reception, but it's not information that is widely circulated. It doesn't seem to bother anyone that does find out, either. There's enough separation in their roles that it doesn't come across as seedy that they're seeing one another. Steve and Bucky are both well-liked independently of one another, and given they don't act any differently to any other co-workers within the confines of their work, he surmises that anyone _not_ okay doesn't really have anything to complain about.

 

All in all, for working together and dating, much of what happens between them _stays_ between them.

 

Except for the story on how they initially met.

 

Steve accidentally mentions something about Bucky yelling at him in Macy's, and Natasha takes it upon herself to wheedle the story out of him.

 

While slightly embarrassing for the both of them, it becomes the toast of the East Coast VM team. Bucky knows he doesn't exactly come off in the best light in this story, but Steve laughs it off. There are many people like Bucky and Steve who have worked their way into their current positions having put in at least a _little_ bit of time working frontline retail. Anyone who has just shakes Bucky's hand. It doesn't sully his reputation at Nordstroms. If anything, it makes him _more_ popular, his work _more_ prone to being noticed, and his hard work builds him a professional rep as an industrious and very creative worker.

 

Bucky's just glad that that's the story about him and Steve that makes the rounds, not the interview one. Thankfully, that has remained just between the parties involved, and Sharon.

 

He only misses two things about his time at Macys: the shorter commute to work, and hanging out with Sharon. They still keep in touch regularly, they just see one another as much as he would like. Bucky hasn't been into the Fulton St Macys since he was booted, preferring not to take any chance of running into Pierce.

 

Sharon misses working with him, and is saddened Bucky's found himself a new work-wife (Natasha), but he consoles her by taking her out for shots, and telling her that 'you never forget your First'. This cheers her up immensely.

 

They like to catch up and Sharon loves sharing gossip about Bucky's old store. Bucky particularly likes anything to do with how dowdy the department is looking now that he's not there. It's not taking the high road, but he gets a sick sense of satisfaction from it, and Sharon kindly indulges him.

 

In late January, after not having been able to meet up during the Black Friday or Christmas rushes -- and Bucky's _never_ been so fucking happy to not be frontline -- and Sharon insists on coming into Midtown to see him. Bucky's wrangled a half-day on a Friday, since he put in some extra time last weekend, and so decides it's the perfect opportunity to have Sharon meet him after he finishes. He can show her around his new workplace, and then head out to lunch.

 

It's a little after twelve, and Bucky stands outside the building in a heavy coat, waiting for Sharon to arrive. He inhales from his cigarette, the smoke warming his insides while he freezes on the outside.

 

"Barnes!" someone yells, and Bucky turns to see Sharon approaching him, bundled in a coat and scarf and hat. His face breaks out in a huge grin. He stubs out his cigarette and gives her a big hug on the sidewalk.

 

"Let's go inside before my balls drop off, please," he insists.

 

"Working Midtown's got you all precious now, huh?" Sharon laughs as they go through the glass doors and are instantly hit by a comforting wall of heat.

 

"Please. Don't act like your nipples couldn'tve cut glass," Bucky says as the doors to the lift open. To his embarrassment, it's not empty. A a terribly well-dressed woman that Bucky thinks works on the floors above the Nordstroms office, is in there, and raises a perfectly-shaped eyebrow at him as they pile in.

 

Bucky stares at the reflective doors resolutely and Sharon tries not to die laughing as they make their way to the 22nd floor. When they get out, Sharon waves to the occupant -- who doesn't look all that amused -- as the doors close and Bucky hopes he never sees her again. Ever.

 

As soon as the elevator leaves, Sharon lets out a peal of laughter. "You just can't get your foot out of your mouth, can you?"

 

"I'm starting to suspect you're the problem," Bucky grumbles.

 

"Don't get snow on my carpet!" a voice threatens, "I just vacuumed!"

 

"Sorry, Darcy," Bucky apologises, taking both his and Sharon's coats and hanging them on the crowded racks by reception. Darcy gracefully walks around her desk to stand in front of them.

 

"Sharon, this is Darcy. She makes sure the place doesn't collapse in on itself, answers phones, and sends the occasional email that may or may not contain a cute cat picture."

 

Sharon shakes her hand. "So, backbone of the company then?"

 

"You know it," Darcy grins brightly. "What brings you here today?"

 

Sharon chucks her thumb in Bucky's direction. "This one promised to show me around the new place."

 

"And she's here to make sure nobody's picking on me too badly," Bucky puts in.

 

"Because that's _my_ job," Sharon finishes. Bucky grins at her.

 

"Fuck, I've missed you," he mutters fondly.

 

"Then get better aim," she replies. Sharon links her arm with Bucky's. "Okay then, Mr Midtown, show me _everything_."

 

Bucky says goodbye to Darcy, and takes her through the offices. Sharon is suitably impressed at the layout and how warmly Bucky is greeted as he goes around.

 

"They found out I yelled at Steve when we first met," Bucky says by way of explanation, "I became office hero." It's strange, because he's as proud of that as he is embarrassed about the reasons why.

 

"As well you should be," Sharon grins, and Bucky can't help but grin back.

 

They tour around the corridors, Bucky pointing out the different offices, rolling his eyes when he casually gestures to Steve's.

 

"Can I go i--"

 

"No, he's not in today," Bucky answers resolutely.

 

"But--"

 

Bucky shakes his head emphatically. "I know you just wanna have a big laugh at my expense, but you're going to have to save it. I'm not taking a non-employee into a Manager's office while he's not here. Can you say 'sackable offense'?"

 

Sharon looks suitably chastened. "Sorry," she apologises, "I didn't think of that."

 

Bucky just squeezes her hand. "Not a problem. I'm just not that keen on getting fired from two jobs in six months," he smiles wryly.

 

"Good point."

 

He finishes up by taking Sharon into the common area where he's stationed when in the office. Because so many of his duties happen in store, none of his team need anything particularly fancy to work from when they're in the building. Phil has a little cubicle off to the side, while there are two other work stations meant for four people. Natasha shares with Clint, and is constantly fighting a losing battle with Clint's clutter encroaching on her side, while Bucky gets paired with Thor, who hardly uses the desk and is rarely at it.

 

Bucky points out the different people bustling around working to Sharon, naming them. He's talked about many of them, so Sharon makes the connections as he mentions their names. It's been a somewhat hectic day, so he doesn't wish to interrupt anyone for introductions unless they look like they're not too busy.

 

Sharon slides into Thor's chair, while Bucky parks himself on his. Before they have too much time to delve into conversation, Thor jogs up to his desk.

 

Sharon's eyes snap to the handsome specimen, following his every move.

 

"Hello, Bucky. Hello...?" Thor looks to Sharon, a questioning expression on his face.

 

Sharon opens her mouth, but no sound comes out, so Bucky fills in the gap. "Thor, this is my best friend, Sharon. Sharon, Thor."

 

Thor's face lights up with a charming smile and holds his hand out. "Sharon! Bucky speaks fondly of you often."

 

"I. Hi. Hello. And." Is as much as Sharon can get out, her hand looking tiny within his mighty paw.

 

Thor releases her hand and looks apologetic. "I'm so sorry, Phil has me running errands today, I just need to--" He reaches over the desk, perilously close to Sharon, and collects his car keys, and Sharon looks like she's about to faint.

 

"Careful driving in the shit weather," Bucky comments, holding his fist out.

 

"Safety first," Thor says with gravity, touching his knuckles to Bucky's. He nods politely to Sharon, before making a beeline for the door.

 

"That means wear a goddamn seatbelt!" Bucky yells after him. Thor waves over his shoulder before he disappears from sight.

 

Bucky sighs and glances at Sharon, who looks completely poleaxed. "What?" he asks. As if he doesn't know.

 

"That is Thor." It's a question, but not a real question.

 

"Yes."

 

"That. Is. Thor," she repeats, as though he's suffered some kind of brain injury.

 

"Y - e - s," he spells helpfully.

 

"And you share this desk with him? And go travelling with him?" Bucky nods. "How did you not _tell_ me," she says, punctuating her words with a punch to his arm, "that he's so hot?!"

 

"Jesus Christ," Bucky mutters, rubbing his arm. "I notice but, I don't _really_ notice, if that makes sense."

 

"Is it because you've already got a buff blond?" she queries. "Because how do you not pay attention to _that_?"

 

Bucky cocks his head to the side. Sure, Thor's distracting on an aesthetic level sometimes, but Bucky can by and large just not notice. The reason being... "I guess so?" Bucky says, lips curling into a bit of a smile at the thought of Steve.

 

"And he sits at this desk. Right across from you?" Sharon asks, bracing both hands on the edge of the table top.

 

"Sometimes, yeah," Bucky says.

 

Sharon leans forward. "So, share. What's his deal? Married? I didn't see a ring. Attached in any form? Or should you introduce me properly when I have regained my ability to speak around him?"

 

"I would've definitely introduced you earlier, were he not dating a really lovely friend of Darcy's," Bucky says by way of apology. "Sorry, honey."

 

Sharon deflates a little. "Damn. I knew you wouldnt've let me down if he'd been single."

 

"You know I'm always happy to be your wingman."

 

Sharon stays silent for a moment, before doing a weird wiggle in the chair. "At least I can console myself knowing I've sat in the dude's ass-groove."

 

It sends them both into peals of laughter, and Bucky has to sip some water to clear his throat.

 

Sharon leans back in Thor's chair deliberately and looks around with an appraising air, before smiling. "So. Do you love it?"

 

Bucky puts his head in one hand, resting his elbow on the desk. "I do. I really do. The learning curve's been steep, but it's actually mentally _stimulating._ And the people here are pretty great."

 

"'Pretty great'?" A mildly sarcastic voice cuts in. "Now _there's_ a ringing endorsement."

 

Bucky sighs, because the introduction he's been dreading is upon him. "Sharon, this is Natasha. She's--"

 

"The new work-wife?" Sharon finishes, standing. Natasha gives her a shrewd glance.

 

"You're the ex?" she asks, and Bucky internally groans. He's not sure if this is going to go well, or poorly.

 

"I am." Sharon confirms, extending her hand. "So nice to meet you. No hard feelings, I know you'll take good care of him." She lays it on quite thick.

 

"I will," Natasha shakes her hand, answering gravely. "If there's anything I need to know..."

 

"He hates the colour pink, and is allergic to pineapples," Sharon finishes.

 

"Right." Natasha turns to Bucky. "So, a pink shirt with a pineapple on it for your birthday? Which is...?"

 

"No," Bucky answers bluntly.

 

"March 10," Sharon answers helpfully, drying imaginary tears. Natasha grins slowly, scarily.

 

Bucky takes Sharon by the arm. "Fantastic. But it's time for us to go to lunch." He begins dragging her out of the office.

 

Natasha waves mildly. "Nice to meet you. Get Bucky to bring you along next time we go out for drinks, I could use a few good stories."

 

"Okay!" Sharon answers as she's pulled from the room.

 

"Ps, you can only come for drinks if you button your mouth," Bucky tells her in the corridor.

 

Sharon laughs lightly. "Oh, Buck. If she wants to find out any dirt on you, she's going to have to do it the hard way like me, and _dig_."

 

They make it back out to reception and collect their coats. "Where do you want to go to lunch?" Bucky asks.

 

Sharon flicks her hair out from her collar. "I'm feeling nostalgic. How about the place we went to after your interview?"

 

"Yeah, okay." Bucky flicks his phone out and sends a quick text before he puts his gloves on and they trudge into the cold.

 

New York City in winter can be simultaneously incredibly beautiful and incredibly depressing. There's snowflakes falling through the air and making everything glisten, then they fall to the street to create dirty, wet, slush puddles that you accidentally step in and wet your shoes. Bucky wraps his scarf around his face a little tighter as they make their way to the restaurant. Sharon nearly slips on a patch of ice on the sidewalk, but Bucky neatly grabs her shoulders and keeps her upright.

 

It's pleasant being back inside the restaurant, shedding their slightly damp outerwear at the door.

 

"Do you want to sit and order already, or have a drink?" Sharon asks.

 

"Let's go to the bar, first," Bucky announces.

 

His blonde friend smiles prettily. "Let's do it." They occupy two stools at the bar and order a couple of beers. Bucky's phone chimes in his inner pocket. He checks it and then smiles.

 

"Is The Stud texting you?" Sharon asks like a grade schooler, knowing perfectly well the answer is 'yes'.

 

"I wish you'd stop calling him that," Bucky says.

 

"Why, is it embarrassing you? That you're dating _the_ studliest guy in retail ever? Does he bench-press mannequins to stay so buff? Do you think he has any hot retail buddies he can introduce me to?"

 

"Play your cards right," a familiar voice says. Bucky turns away from the bar and beams at Steve, who is peeling off his gloves.

 

He leans down to kiss Bucky in greeting, gently wiping his thumb over the soft skin of Bucky's bottom lip before looking to Sharon. Her cheeks have gone red, and it's definitely not because of the cold.

 

"Lovely to see you again, Sharon," he says, leaning over to peck her cheek.

 

"Hi, Steve," Sharon smiles to hide her embarrassment. Bucky wonders how much of the conversation Steve heard before he joined them. He doesn't have to wait long for an answer.

 

"Oh, and I _do_ bench-press mannequins, but only if they're clothed in _Dior_. I'm not an animal." Steve gives her a delightfully deadpan delivery, ruined only by Bucky's snort.

 

"You two deserve one another," Sharon screws up her nose in distaste.

 

"Don't start nothin', won't _be_ nothin'," Bucky grins.

 

Steve orders a beer from the bar tender and takes the stool next to Bucky.

 

"Please stop pretending to be cool, we both know that is patently untrue."

 

"All my cool is put in post-production. Wait until you see the edit," Bucky responds, taking a swig of his beer.

 

"You're making less and less sense," Sharon shakes her head. "I blame Steve."

 

"I didn't do anything, I am working with what you gave me," Steve holds both hands up in surrender.

 

Bucky huffs, unhappy with being ganged up on. "What is this? _Pick on Barnes_ day?"

 

"It's a day that ends in 'y', so yes," Sharon smiles brightly, patting his hand.

 

"You're both awful people, and I want nothing more to do with you."

 

"I'm paying for lunch," Steve puts in.

 

"I'm picking up the bar tab," Sharon adds.

 

Bucky frowns dramatically. "Well. I'll continue my association for a little longer."

 

They all share a laugh, before Steve suggests they move to a table, as he has to return to work soon.

 

One of the restaurant staff escort them to a table. Steve holds Sharon's chair out for her, and Sharon makes eye contact with Bucky and pulls a face. "Careful, Buck. I may end up walking out of here with a cute blond after all."

 

Steve arches a brow in confusion. "Did I miss something?" he says as he sits.

 

"Sharon met Thor and fell in love," Bucky supplies.

 

"Aaah," Steve nods in understanding. "Well, I think that's happened to every single person upon meeting him at some stage or another."

 

"Except Bucky, apparently," Sharon puts in, and Steve gives him a curious look.

 

"You don't find him attractive?" Steve asks curiously. It is sort of a weird question to get from your boyfriend, but Steve's tone betrays no accusation or suspicion. Bucky shifts in his chair and takes a brief moment to think about his answer.

 

"Well, yeah, of _course_ , but it's not like I'm going gaga over him, or failing to string words together." He inclines his head towards Sharon.

 

"I resent that remark," Sharon responds.

 

"You don't go monosyllabic?" Steve grins.

 

"Na. I mean, why would I?" Bucky shrugs, giving Steve a smile that's almost shy.

 

"Why indeed," Steve smiles back, squeezing Bucky's leg under the table.

 

"Please stop," Sharon says in mock-disgust.

 

"Don't hate the players, hate the game," Bucky says with solemnity, and Sharon and Steve both can't help but laugh at that.

 

"Besides, I hear Thor's got a brother who's quite single," Steve says, tapping his finger to the side of his nose. It perks Sharon up immediately, but any further queries are interrupted by their waiter coming to collect their lunch orders.

 

They order some appetisers to share as well as their main meals, and another round of drinks. Once the waiter leaves, Sharon exclaims loudly.

 

"Oh my God, _Bucky_ ," she declares, and Bucky is almost alarmed at the tone, "I nearly forgot to tell you one of the reasons I wanted to meet up."

 

"Oh?" he queries.

 

"I have gossip from the store," she grins gleefully, "and it's not just something little, it's something _huge._ "

 

"When did it happen?"

 

"Three days ago. I couldn't text you about it via text because I needed to tell you this face-to-face. It's just too good."

 

Their waiter brings over some breadsticks and Bucky and Steve both snag one. "Well, don't leave me hanging... what is it?"

 

Sharon pushes her hair behind her ear and wiggles in the chair, settling in. "So as you know, lately the department's not been looking that great. We're sort of lacking the person who would stage our displays..." she gives Bucky a very pregnant look, and Bucky's eyes widen.

 

"Who's doing the VM?" he asks.

 

Sharon waves her hand to shush him. "I'm getting to that! So new product comes in, it just gets put out by whoever's on that day. No real care's been taken with putting it out, because nobody knows _how to do it_. And Pierce is getting shitty."

 

"Are we talking 'finding empty hangers in the changeroom' shitty, or 'seeing mannequins touching each other's butts' shitty?"

 

"'Having to approve overtime to payroll' shitty," Sharon answers ominously.

 

"Crap," Bucky breathes, leaning back in his chair, because that's some premiere Pierce bad mood, right there.

 

"So he's got a messy department, why doesn't he just call corporate and get their VM detail on it?" Steve asks.

 

"That's just it; he doesn't _want_ to call them, because he doesn't want to admit that his department looks like trash and he can't give an adequate reason why," Sharon answers Steve, before turning back to Bucky. "So he starts calling the other department heads, but they don't have a problem. They give him the number for the VM team, so he finally calls and is so rude, flat-out _demanding_ to know why they're suddenly skipping menswear." Steve shakes his head slightly, and Bucky puts his hand over his mouth.

 

"What happened?" he asks, on the edge of his seat.

 

"The head of VM fires back with the fact that they _haven't_ been missing Pierce's department, it hasn't actually been on their work orders for over eighteen months, because it was being taken care of, and that it was signed off by the first floor manager, Sitwell."

 

"Sitwell was the one that approved me doing it... but he left nine months ago when his wife gave birth!" Bucky says.

 

Bucky's not entirely surprised that Pierce wasn't aware of what he was doing, the guy didn't generally care who did what, as long as it got done. Sitwell, the floor manager, had been a little more people-friendly, and Bucky liked him well enough. Perhaps if his wife hadn't had complications with their son, he might not have left so suddenly and passed on vital information about the running of the department to his successors.

 

"I know!" Sharon replies gleefully. "And the notation doesn't say _who_ is doing it, just that it's getting taken care of internally."

 

Bucky snorts. "So after all that, I didn't even get _any_ credit in the file? Figures."

 

"Then the VM manager hangs up on him, for being a prick."

 

"Damn," Bucky breathes. This story is the audio equivalent of watching a car crash. It's awful and yet he needs to hear _what happens next._ Bucky glances at Steve, who seems as rapt as he is, an arm draped casually over the back of Bucky's chair.

 

"Why didn't you tell him it was me, and rub it in?"

 

"He never asked," Sharon replies simply, with a smile. "And I'm glad I didn't, because this story gets _so_ much better." Sharon pauses to take a sip from her drink, and Bucky's leg starts to jiggle under the table. He needs to know what happens next. When Sharon looks up, Bucky gives her a wide-eyed 'continue' expression, and she takes up the story again.

 

"So while Pierce is still calling around, trying to figure out a) who was setting the displays in the first place and b) avoiding contacting any other managers _or_ VM, who are now refusing to take his calls," Sharon fixes Bucky with a meaningful look, "Corporate shows up."

 

" _Fury?_ " Bucky gasps, to Sharon's excited nod.

 

If there is one person on the Macy's payroll that intimidated him more than Alexander Pierce, it was Nick Fury. The difference being Fury tended to be fair -- albeit in a terrifying way -- Pierce was just an asshole for the sake of it.

"Nicholas Fury?" Steve asks, and both Bucky and Sharon look at him curiously. "I know him by reputation only," Steve clarifies, holding up one hand, " _very_ tough man."

 

"That's putting it mildly," Bucky mutters.

"Fury shows up with a few of his other bigwigs," Sharon continues, "and they're walking around the department. He's looking at the displays like he's just drunk sour milk. I even heard one of the other guys say something about them being like a second-rate _T.J.Maxx_."

 

"Jesus," Bucky mutters, palming the side of his face. It's a pretty damning indictment. "Do not stop the story. Keep talking."

 

"So I'm straightening the racks and listen to him and his offsiders bitch about the state of the department. He then comes over to me and asks me how long the displays have looked crappy. So I tell him about three months." She grins a little at Bucky, and he sniggers back. Steve's hand cups his shoulder and rubs.

 

"And he's _furious._ Like, proper mad. Because we've just been through the busiest time of the year, and nothing's been done properly! He gets this look like the throbbing vein on his head is five seconds away from bursting, but very calmly asks me to call Pierce down."

 

Bucky's stomach is in knots listening to the story. He remembers all-too-well how Pierce would simper to corporate when they came in for visits. "Please tell me he yelled at Pierce. That'd just about make my life."

 

"I'm getting to that," Sharon says, waving dismissively, annoyed at being interrupted. "So I call Pierce down from the third floor and then hang close by, because I _have_ to know what's going on. Pierce walks onto the floor and he's looking pretty frazzled. I have never seen the guy with a hair out of place, and he's _running_ through the floor with his tie loose. _His tie loose, Bucky._ Anyway, he makes a beeline for Fury. He starts his regular simpering routine, but Fury's having _none of it._ He starts to tear into Pierce about the state of the displays, and Pierce is backpedalling like crazy. He's pulling out every excuse in the book; the VM team won't take his calls, the floor manager doesn't have any idea why it's not happening...

 

"And then Fury starts talking about how _disappointed_ he is, because the local market is extremely competitive." Sharon casts a significant glance towards Steve, who arches a brow and sits forward. "Says that as an example, Nordstroms Northern East Coast sector has been killing it in the last quarter. He'd headed into Fulton St because we'd previously gotten great compliments on the fashion displays, only to see _this,_ " Sharon says, gesturing as though she's referring to a large room.

 

Bucky's still contemplating the divine justice of Pierce getting a taste of his own medicine by being dressed down in public by a superior on the floor, that it takes him a moment to catch up with the very specific nugget of information Sharon has dropped into his lap. "Nordstroms Northern East..." Bucky murmurs, "but that's--"

 

"--Your sector," Steve finishes, giving a grin.

 

Bucky looks to Steve with a puzzled expression. "But the team's already pretty awesome. It's not like... I _cant've_ made that big a difference."

 

"You've made plenty of suggestions over, what -- nearly fourteen weeks? -- that have been taken on board. Very innovative stuff," Steve puts in sincerely. "I know, because Phil and I green-light a lot of it."

 

Bucky feels heat in his cheeks, even though he's not necessarily blushing. He also knows that Steve's not doing it because they're in a relationship, as he's had plenty of suggestions knocked back, too. And some that he thought were _really good_. Steve's not one for wasting time on things that don't work.

 

"Anyway," Sharon continues, "Fury's getting really pissed, and asks all the team members in the vicinity -- who are all trying to look busy while eavesdropping -- 'Does _anyone_ know which employee was responsible for the displays?' " His friend leans back in her chair, an eminently satisfied expression on her face. "So _that's_ the moment I chose to speak up."

 

She pauses, and Bucky's going to lose his mind with the anticipation building. His mouth goes dry at the prospect, and Bucky thinks he's not going to be able to hear what Sharon's saying over the sound of his heartbeat that is thumping way too loud in his ears. "What did you _say_?"

 

"Nothing much. I just piped up and told Fury that I knew the employee that did it, but he no longer works at the store. Fury comes over to me straight away and asks why, and I told him Pierce fired him. You should've seen both their faces."

 

"Oh my God." Bucky's eyes are as wide as saucers, and even Steve's leaning forward.

 

"He fixes me with the scariest stare then, and I felt like he was looking at me through a huge microscope. He goes 'Fired?' and I go 'Yeah'.

 

"By this time, Pierce -- who looks like he's been slapped across the face with a dead trout -- is coming up and demanding me to tell him who, but the second he raises his voice at me, Fury fixes him with a glare powerful enough that I thought it was going to set his hair on fire." Sharon gives a rueful little chuckle. "He was pretty quiet after that."

 

Bucky starts laughing enough to cough, so Steve claps him on the back a few times. He makes a 'keep going' gesture with his hand while he gulps down a few mouthfuls of water.

 

"Anyway, Fury turns to me and asks me who. And I say 'James Barnes'. He asks who you were, and I told him you were a long-time employee stationed in menswear. Real hard worker, always good to the customers. Pierce snorts, but Fury just holds one hand up and he shuts up straight away.

 

"'And what did Mr Barnes get fired for?'" he asks. Pierce can't actually keep his mouth shut anymore and starts yammering on about you yelling at a customer, even going so far as to point to me and say that I was there, that I saw it.

 

"Fury looks to me to confirm, and I said I _did_ see you yell at someone, but by the guy's own admission--" Sharon looks to Steve with a mildly apologetic smile, "--he wasn't a customer, as he had no intention of buying anything, and he was just messing up the displays."

 

Bucky barks out a laugh, and Steve bites his lip. Bucky sees a pale pink flush rise up over Steve's collar, and he leans into him. "Well," Steve admits with a self-effacing grin, "you weren't wrong."

 

"I'm sorry if you came across as a nuisance, even though it was for a good cause," Sharon says sincerely to Steve.

 

Steve reaches across the table and briefly touches the back of Sharon's hand, and Bucky's just so damned _impressed_ with the guy. It would've been easy to be cranky at Sharon for not painting him in the best light to Fury -- even though it was for Bucky's benefit -- but he doesn't seem to mind.

 

"It's okay," Steve responds. "It needed to happen. I don't like bullies." Bucky really enjoys the timbre of Steve's conviction.

 

Sharon takes up the story again. "So Fury looks back at Pierce, and he's seeing _red,_ and it's legitimately terrifying. Pierce is squirming, and I've never seen that happen before. Fury turns back to me and asks if I know where you are now."

 

Bucky's breath hitches. He almost doesn't want to know, because reality might outstrip the absolutely amazing scenario his brain is playing out for him.

 

But he has to.

 

"What did you say?"

 

Sharon has the biggest grin on her face. This is why she didn't tell him this info over the phone, she wanted his reactions in person.

 

"I said 'I heard he got picked up by Nordstroms shortly after he was fired. Designs displays for the whole Northern East Coast'."

 

Bucky's jaw falls open in shock. "No way."

 

" _Yes_ way," Sharon counters. "You should've seen the look on Fury's face. Hell, you should've seen _Pierce._ White as a sheet."

 

It takes a moment for Bucky to be able to string a few words together, he's in shock. "What... what happened after that?"

 

Sharon rests her elbow on the table, chin in hand. "Fury dragged Pierce into an office after that, so I didn't hear anything first hand, but you remember Renata, the cleaner?"

 

"Yeah, she's really nice," Bucky answers.

 

"Always had a soft spot for you, too. Anyway, Renata just happened to be cleaning a corridor, and heard Pierce getting absolutely _shredded_ by Fury. He was getting in trouble for using you instead of the official VM team, but then _also_ not recommending you for a VM position when you displayed an aptitude for it, not to mention firing you and driving you to one of our biggest competitors."

 

Bucky sits back in his chair, leaning against Steve's arm, exhausted. "Holy _fuck_ ," he says, a little too loud when he realises he cops a few glares from a couple over on the next table.

 

"I _know_. There's talk of him getting bumped down back to a floor position for an indeterminate period as punishment."

 

Bucky sits up straight. "Are you going to be okay? He might start being a real asshole to you if he's on the floor all day, because of what you said."

 

Sharon shrugs. "Maybe, but he really has bigger things to worry about than me. Also, he's getting watched so closely now, if I even _whisper_ about him giving me a hard time, Fury's going to come down on him like a vengeful God."

 

Bucky shakes his head, almost unable to comprehend Pierce heading back down to the floor, like a regular non-salary schmoe. He wouldn't like that at _all._

 

"Also," Sharon pulls Bucky out of his daze, digging into her purse for a moment, to reveal a white business card. "I've got this for you."

 

Bucky takes the little rectangle and looks at it with wide eyes. Steve, looking over his shoulder, frowns. It's Nick Fury's business card with his direct line office phone number on it.

 

"How did you get this?" Bucky asks, mystified.

 

"So after he'd finished tearing Pierce a new orifice, Fury doubled back and asked me a couple more questions before he left," Sharon says. "More details about your work, how long you'd been doing the displays, if you took the firing hard... Even asked how long it was before you started working at Nordstroms." She cocks her head to the side. "I told him you got the interview within the week, but didn't say _how._ I'm sure he's wondering, but he hasn't heard anything from me.

 

"Also, on the quiet, I told him what an asshole Pierce was firing you, doing it in front of everyone and really being demeaning. Fury didn't seem to like that news very much. So he gave me the card, asked me to pass on his apologies for Pierce's actions, and that if you entertained any thoughts about re-joining the Macy's team -- perhaps in a new role -- you should give him a call."

 

Just when Bucky thinks he can't get any more surprised, there we have it. He looks at Steve, whose face is very carefully neutral. "Congratulations?" he offers.

Their waiter chooses to come back at this moment with their meals, so any thoughts Bucky has are temporarily put on hold. Food is a great distraction, but for some reason, he doesn't quite have the appetite immediately. He puts the card down next to his water glass and stares at it for a few moments.

 

"Bucky?" Steve asks softly, silverware paused over his steak. "Everything okay?"

 

He looks at Steve reassuringly, scrunching a hand through his hair. "Yeah... yeah. Just, very unexpected turn to the story. I think I need to process it."

 

"Process while eating," he suggests mildly, pointing to Bucky's meal.

 

"You're not the boss of me," Bucky mutters.

 

" _Actually_..." Steve dangles, and Bucky rolls his eyes.

 

"I walked into that one, didn't I?"

 

"You sure did," Steve answers with something that sounds like forced cheer. He then turns to Sharon and strikes up a conversation about how her holiday season panned out as they eat, leaving Bucky to listen quietly a lot; partly because he's preoccupied, and partly because he enjoys listening to Steve and Sharon talk. His friend has met Steve a few times since they've been dating, but they've not had the opportunity to hang out together very much. Most of both Sharon and Steve's information about one another comes from Bucky as a source, so it's nice to hear them talk directly to one another.

 

Steve's a very active listener, and has an amazing knack for thinking up very pertinent and thoughtful questions based on the information he's learning about someone. It leads Sharon into discussions about her feelings about work, and her passions.

 

"I'm actually half-way through my degree at business school in retail, which is one of the reasons I have the job at Macy's anyway. You know, apart from needing money."

 

"And what have you been focusing on?" he asks.

 

"My degree is in Retail Fundamentals, which covers things like core retail topics, practices and disciplines, industry classifications, product development -- you know, all that good stuff -- but this semester I've also been doing a great course on the design and marketing of luxury products."

 

Bucky can tell Steve's curiosity is piqued immediately, his back straightens in the chair and he moves forward. "That's very interesting."

 

" _I_ like it. Working floor retail can kind of kill the buzz sometimes, but the coursework and application of the marketing is very exciting. Although sometimes Macy's hasn't been as accommodating with my shifts, and I've missed a few of the classes," she imparts regretfully.

 

"That's a shame. Are you hoping for any job prospects at Macy's your chosen field once you're done?"

 

Sharon shrugs. "It would definitely be nice, but I'd have to wait for an opening. I don't think there's anything there right now. Also, if there _is_ something there right now, I doubt they'd look at me, seeing as I haven't graduated yet."

 

Steve sits back in his chair, fingers playing over the slick surface of his beer bottle. "How much do you know about the Nordstrom brand in New York City?"

 

Sharon looks surprised, but answers. "I know it's the only major department store that isn't in Manhattan, not counting _Nordstrom Rack_ or that concept store that opened up a few years ago."

 

"Exactly," Steve gives a little smile. "I'm impressed you know that."

 

"It's sort of my job, Steve," Sharon sasses back.

 

"Indeed. Do you also know it was announced a few years ago that Manhattan was getting its very first flagship store next year? About the time you'd graduate, I'd wager."

 

Sharon gives Steve a confused, wary look, then shoots the same one to Bucky. Bucky shrugs. "Don't look at me, I don't know where he's going with this."

 

"Let me explain," Steve says, sitting forward. "It's taken years to pick the right location in Manhattan, but now it's finally done and being built, the Marketing team is working on the best strategies to make a big impact in the local market. And of course, there'll be a decent intake of employees before it's open." He shrugs a little, glancing at Bucky. "It's not necessarily my field, but it sounds like you might have some great qualities to contribute to the new store in a number of different aspects."

 

Sharon blinks slowly, for once, silent. "Really?" she asks eventually.

 

"Really," Steve says. "It appears that you're enthusiastic and intentionally making a career out of retail, and it's a shame that you've had to miss some of your classes -- and I know how hard it is to make that up and still work full-time." Steve shakes his head shallowly. "Your talents are seemingly going unrecognised, and given what you and Bucky have both told me about your immediate superior, it's liable to _keep_ going unrecognised."

 

Steve leans forward earnestly. "I can't guarantee you a job, apart from me not being involved in recruitment outside of my department, it's a little unethical. But what I _can_ do is make sure your application is at least seen by the people who will give it full consideration."

 

Sharon is stunned into silence for a few moments. "Steve, that would be amazing," she utters, nearly visibly shaking with excitement. "What would I need to do?"

 

"Update your resume, and write a cover letter explaining what you study and what your goals are, along with a copy of your class results to date. If you email it to me, I can send it through to HR." Steve leans back in his chair. "You've got the retail experience to potentially get your foot in the door just in the store if the marketing side doesn't pan out immediately. That is, if you were looking for a change."

 

Sharon nods her head enthusiastically and gestures to Bucky. "My favourite person already left, to be replaced by the harbinger of the zombie apocalypse. I'm more than ready." Bucky nearly spits out a mouthful of beer at the description of Pierce.

 

Lunch finishes, and they pass on dessert in favour of a final toast. The bill comes and Sharon and Steve argue about the price, slapping Bucky's hands away when he tries to contribute.

 

"Please, please, don't fight over me," Bucky says, his voice sounding wounded and disturbed, but his face wearing a huge grin.

 

"You're so dramatic," Sharon rolls her eyes at him, grabbing her purse. They all stand and make sure nothing is left behind on the table. Bucky pockets the white business card from the table. His fingers curl around the edges of the cardboard as they walk to the front of the restaurant. From the corner of his eye, Steve notices Bucky take the card, and Bucky's waiting for him to say something about it. His boyfriend chooses not to mention anything at all, but merely assists Sharon and Bucky into their respective overcoats.

 

For some stupid reason, they decide to say their goodbyes out in the street, where it's cold. Bucky and Steve are rugged up, standing shoulder to shoulder, Sharon right in front of them. Bucky rubs his hands up and down on her arms to try and warm her.

 

"I'd best get going. Apparently I have a cover letter to write!" She smiles at Steve over the top of her scarf.

 

"I can't guarantee you anything," Steve warns again, "but this is at least a decent shot. Given your qualifications, I feel like you should at _least_ score some form of one-on-one interview."

 

"Which you'd completely _ace_ , by the way," Bucky puts in.

 

Sharon beams at the both, before turning to Bucky's boyfriend. "That's amazing, Steve. Thank you again." She kisses him on the cheek, and then leans in to give Bucky a huge hug.

 

"Good to see you, Sharon," he says right by her ear.

 

"As always, it was your pleasure," she answers, before pulling back a little. "Are we still on to see a movie next weekend?"

 

"Yeah, should be. I'm flying out to Connecticut Monday, but should be back by Wednesday night."

 

"Great," she grins before stepping back. "Well, I'm sure you've got to head back to work, Steve, so I'll be off. I've got to practice my interviewing technique."

 

"If you need any help, or a sounding board, just give me a call," Bucky offers.

 

He's been friends with Sharon for long enough, he really should know _better_ by now. Clearly, he doesn't.

 

She gets a little smirk on her face, before it disappears under the veneer of innocence. "Say, does Thor happen to conduct interviews at all?"

 

Steve shakes his head with amusement. "Not really his department, I'm afraid."

 

"That's a shame. It's just that if Bucky's coaching me for my interview, I wouldn't want to shake just anyone's..." Sharon pauses deliberately for effect, "... _hand_."

 

It takes a moment for her words to sink in, but they have the desired effect once they do. Steve's cheeks go a dull red, and he shuffles on his feet, while Bucky puts his face in his hands in embarrassment. " _Sharon_ \--"

 

"Gotta go, Buck. Love you!" She waves as she walks away, laughing.

 

Steve turns to Bucky, but Bucky doesn't want to address him just yet, he's happy wallowing in his embarrassment.

 

"Does anyone else kn--" Steve starts.

 

"No, only her." Bucky takes his hands away. "And she wouldn't mention it to anyone. She was just doing that to get a rise out of the both of us."

 

Steve laughs ruefully. "She did, at that."

 

Bucky puts his head against Steve's shoulder and shoves his hands into his pockets. His fingers curl around Nick Fury's card, and he inhales a shaky breath.

 

"You've signed contracts," Steve says out of the blue, "but there was no minimum timeframe to work for the company."

 

Bucky lifts his head to look at Steve with some measure of confusion. "What are you talking about?"

 

"If you got a better offer..."

 

"I _did_ get a better offer, I'm working at it," Bucky insists. He pulls the card from his pocket and holds it in front of Steve. "I'm no slouch, and I'm faithful to companies -- and people -- that deserve it. This card is about two years too late for me to give a flying fuck about it."

 

Steve wraps his arms around Bucky's back, but doesn't pull him close, so as to keep seeing his face. "You should do what's best for your career, you know. It's not like we have to stop seeing each other if you work somewhere else..." he pauses and frowns, "though some conflict-of-interest questions are undoubtedly going to be raised, and the confidentiality clause would definitely be in effect--"

 

"Steve," Bucky interrupts. "I'm pretty sure I _am_ doing what's best for my career." He gives a wry smile. "So shut up and let me keep working under you."

Steve's eyes flash with something very appealing at the phrase, his fingers tightening in the coat at Bucky's back. "You said it like that on purpose," he huffs, voice dipping half an octave.

 

"I don't know what you mean," Bucky remarks, stepping closer, nearly close enough to kiss Steve. But he doesn't. He crowds his boyfriend backwards a little, until Steve bumps into a trash bin. Reaching past him, Bucky very slowly and deliberately drops Nick Fury's business card into the trash.

 

Steve doesn't break eye contact with Bucky, instead fumbling for the phone in his pocket. He unlocks it -- needs a few attempts because his fingers keep missing the buttons -- and hits his speed dial.

 

Bucky's so close he can hear a familiar voice on the other end of the line pick up and deliver a professional greeting.

 

"Hi, Darcy, it's Steve. Look, my morning was pretty successful and I got a lot done. I won't be coming back into the office this afternoon." He gives Bucky a very deliberate, weighted look. "Heading home to pack for my Florida trip on Monday, going to have a quiet one. Tell Phil and the other supervisors they can still reach me via email if needed."

 

He hangs up with little fanfare and pockets his phone, then gestures for Bucky to start walking. "I assume you have no other plans for the afternoon?"

 

Bucky makes note that they're headed in the direction of the closest subway station. "Nope. Just have to head home and pack for my trip on Monday at some stage."

 

"You can do that Sunday night," Steve says with authority. "Right now, we're on official business."

 

Bucky's not misreading signals, Steve is definitely giving him sexy vibes, but now he's talking business, which is odd because Steve very rarely mixes the two together. "Do tell, Mr Rogers," Bucky says with the hint of a purr.

 

Steve leans close so he can be heard over their scarves and the general bustle of the street. "Nordstrom values brand loyalty. I feel it's my duty to show you exactly _how_ much."

 

They stop at a street corner to wait for a green crossing light, and Steve presses his front to Bucky's back. There's layers of fabric in the way, but Bucky definitely notices... _something_ pressing into the curve of his ass.

 

"I feel so optimistic," he responds. They start walking again, and Bucky makes sure he's closer to Steve. "Tell me this, though... is it still considered a 'nooner' if it's nearly three pm?"

 

Steve leans close, breath hot on Bucky's ear. "No, it'd definitely dip into the 'afternoon delight' category."

 

Bucky huffs out a laugh. "That's why I like you, Steve. You have so much wisdom to impart."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Points if you saw the Hedwig and the Angry Inch line. 
> 
> * It took me a little bit to remember how Bucky was characterised in this fic; competent but sadly, a bit prone to drama and nerves getting the better of him. Very different to ftf!Bucky! 
> 
> * Now i'm not going to up the chapter count, but there's a chance there could be a little more to this, but not nearly as long as the chapters I've written in the past. I really have to do the coda to Cause & Effect as well as blister out the next 2 chapters of Fan The Flame as first priority. But if you're interested in seeing more to this, make sure you subscribe to the fic or me to be notified if/when it happens. 
> 
> * If you enjoyed the chapter and had the time to leave me a comment, I'd love it. Because comments are amazing, and comments sometimes lead to more fic, which is always amazing XD 
> 
> * Thanks, stucky fandom, you continue to be the BEST.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick Fury contacts Bucky about a job, and then Bucky gets hauled into Steve's office. Is his bad luck just never going to end?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! The final chapter (i think). It was a great palette cleanser from the heaviness of FtF and I had a ball writing it. This version of Bucky is just so... dramatic. And slightly flail-y. I missed him. 
> 
> All policies with the companies in question are made up, as this is a work of fiction, and I have no first hand knowledge of said companies. 
> 
> Foreverlove to Sarah for proofing, and being amazing. 
> 
>  

Bucky's working at his desk, flipping between photographs of the Garden City main entrance and some concept mock-ups Steve has drawn up, making notes and drawing arrows, when his phone rings.

 

Without even checking the extension number on caller ID, Bucky picks up the phone and shoves it into the cradle between his shoulder and cheek. "Barnes. Go," he says, making another note against a mannequin.

 

"James Barnes, I presume," the voice says on the other end of the line. It's the kind of voice that makes Bucky sit up in his chair immediately, back ramrod straight; commanding, powerful, gruff.

 

Also, completely unrecognisable.

 

"This is James Barnes," he responds carefully, pen frozen over his paper.

 

"Glad to see I got through to the right person, the receptionist seemed a little... excitable."

 

Bucky's eyebrows draw together. "Who am I speaking to?"

 

There's a rough chuckle on the end of the line. "I'm sorry, how rude of me. My name is Nicholas Fury, I'm from the Macy's Corporate Office."

 

Bucky freezes, gripping the phone tightly in his hand. Why the hell is Fury calling him at work?

 

"Mr Fury, I--"

 

"Nick, please. Can I call you James?"

 

"Uuuhhh, sure?" Bucky nearly drops the phone and scrambles to keep a hold of it, cupping one hand around the receiver.

 

"James. I trust Ms Carter passed my details onto you?"

 

For a brief moment, he entertains saying he hadn't gotten the card, but that might get Sharon in trouble. "Yes, sir, she did, I've just been pretty busy with my work, and--"

 

"Yes, I've been keeping abreast of your good work since you left us. It's been quite impressive."

 

"Thank you," Bucky answers, surprise evident in his voice. He's really not sure what else to say, and so the conversation lapses into a moment of somewhat awkward silence.

 

Thankfully, Fury decides to continue. "I wanted to take the opportunity to offer an apology for how you were dismissed from our store. While I understand there was an... incident in which perhaps your better nature wasn't on display--" Bucky can't help his cheeks going red at the reminder. Doesn't matter how it ended up, he's still ashamed of himself for losing his cool. "--the follow-up was definitely not handed with... finesse."

 

"You mean Pierce firing me in front of everyone?" Bucky queries, the question coming out a little harshly.

 

On the other end of the line, Fury clears his throat. "Yes, that. I'm sure it would cheer you to know that disciplinary action has been taken against the party in question."

 

Bucky presses his lips together in a small smile. "At the risk of making me seem petty... yes. Yes it does."

 

"In any case," Fury continues, "the incident highlighted another issue, in so far that you had been responsible for some exceedingly superb work that wasn't being appreciated, and wasn't getting the credit it deserved."

 

Bucky shifts in his seat at the words and gives a quick glance around the room, though everyone seems busy with their own tasks.

 

He's always been a little uncomfortable at taking praise, even if it's been deserved. It's something he's working on, because it's something that Steve and Phil offer in abundance, and Bucky would encourage a co-worker to accept the same, if it were warranted.

 

"I appreciate that, but I've found somewhere that does just that now," Bucky says after a deep exhale. He's still unsure of why Fury's calling, but is curious enough to ride out the conversation.

 

"Yes, Nordstrom," Fury says, letting out a gusty sigh. "I hear you're doing good work for Rogers, there."

 

"You know him?" Bucky asks curiously.

 

"I know his work. Very thorough. Believe it or not, I do have a few ex-Nordstrom employees on the payroll, and those that have had anything to do with him tell me good things."

 

"I like him," Bucky answers.

 

"A little birdie told me he was the one who recruited you, so clearly he knows a good thing when he sees it," Fury comments. He pauses there, and Bucky thinks that maybe they've finally hit the real reason for Fury's contact. "And that's a reason for me calling."

 

"Sir?"

 

" _Nick_ ," Fury insists. "Look, James, I am hoping that I'm not too late to correct what I think is a grievous oversight. I want to offer you a position within the Macy's VM detail."

 

" _What_?" Bucky blurts out, drawing Clint's attention, who gives him a curious look.

 

Bucky waves him off and curls in a little bit, trying to give himself more privacy.

 

"I understand you're working as part of a team, at the moment. Well, I'd like to offer you the position _heading_ a team. Now, it would only be small, and you're still answerable to a manager, but you'd be a team leader."

 

Bucky's mouth opens and closes like a landed fish. "I-- I'm really-- Why?"

 

"Look, James, I think you've shown a lot of talent, but you've also shown other merits, like logging in hours of your own time to make your department something special. That takes dedication, and initiative. They're qualities I look for in my leadership team. Your record prior to the incident had been impeccable, and I asked around about you, to favourable results."

 

Bucky starts coughing, choking on nothing. Clint levels another weird look at him, while Bucky pounds himself on the chest.

 

"Are you all right?" Fury asks, snapping Bucky's attention back to the voice on the other end of the phone.

 

"Yeah, yeah," Bucky croaks. "I'm just-- surprised, is all."

 

"The team leader role isn't all that I'm offering," Fury continues, and Bucky's brow furrows. "Of course, a position like that, you'd expect to make more money, which you would. Basically, whatever they're paying you there, we'll pay you more.

 

"We have quite a generous benefits, insurance and retirement package for our next tier management, of which you would be part of. There's more paid time off, and of course, room for advancement."

 

Bucky starts his fish gaping again, sitting back in his chair heavily. "I-- I-- _wow_ ," he breathes.

 

"I take it you're interested?"

 

Bucky bites his lip. "What you're offering is very generous and... and it deserves some serious thought."

 

"I can appreciate that," Fury says mildly. "Look, I would like to discuss a few of the terms with you in person, if I could schedule a meeting with you later in the week?"

 

Natasha breezes by and pops a memo on his desk, startling him. "I'm a little busy right now... uh, can I call you back?"

 

"Of course, I do apologise for interrupting your work day." Fury gives Bucky his number and they say cordial goodbyes.

 

When Bucky hangs up, he gently places his forehead in the middle of his desk and lets out a gusty sigh.

 

It's flattering, but this complicates his life so much. _And it was starting to get so simple._

 

Bucky feels someone put a hand on his shoulder. "You okay, Buckeroo?" Clint asks.

 

Bucky pushes himself off the desk, the memo Natasha placed on there sticking to his forehead. He peels it off and rubs the skin of his head.

 

"Yeah. I just..." he sighs. "I'm going to take off for lunch. Need a little break from the office." He gathers his coat and scarf, gives Clint a tremulous smile and heads out.

 

He flicks his collar up as he trudges the pavement. The chill is bracing and gives him something else to focus on. There's a Starbucks close by, so Bucky slips in, orders a latte and a sandwich, and finds a seat facing the street to sit on.

 

The offer is... ridiculous. What he wouldn't have given for an offer like this a year ago, hell, six months ago.

 

But he _didn't_ get it, and he went unappreciated for years, with others taking credit for his work. Until Nordstroms.

 

Until Steve.

 

Despite his inexperience, being a team leader would be a little step up from where he is now as just a member of the team, and of course there's the extra benefits. He's sure that Fury could be very convincing and detailed about how great what they're offering is.

 

But the greatest offer in the world doesn't take away the disappointment of being overlooked for years, nor does it take away the very real, hard work he's been putting in at Nordstroms.

 

The real and hard work that has been getting encouraged and acknowledged at every turn. The learning curve on this job has been steep, but he's enjoyed every single minute of it.

 

Bucky rubs his eyes. He wishes that he could talk to his boyfriend about this, get a second opinion. He'd also love to talk to an experienced industry professional.

 

Too bad those people are one and the same, and would create a messy conflict of interests.

 

Bucky looks down at his watch and sighs. It's time to head back to the office. He'd hoped the break would clear his head, but it's just muddied the waters even further.

 

It's a pretty short walk back, and Bucky makes it just before his hour is up.

 

Back at his desk, Bucky drapes his coat across the back of his chair and collapses into it. No sooner has his butt hit the seat, Natasha appears out of nowhere.

 

"You're being summoned," she gravely informs him.

 

"What do you mean?" he asks, searching for the photographs he was working with before lunch.

 

"I mean, Phil wants to see you," she says, her tone irritatingly giving nothing away.

 

Bucky flinches mildly. Sure, he was just on the phone with a rival company, but it has to be coincidence. It has to, right?

 

"Where?" he asks calmly.

 

"Steve's office."

 

_Right?!_

 

Bucky exhales and sifts through the photos on his desk aimlessly for a few moments. What a brilliant time for his horrific luck to rear up and smack him fair in the face. Everything was going so fucking well.

 

He levers himself up reluctantly. Well, might as well get it over with. Because it wouldn't be the first time he hasn't done anything wrong and still gotten in trouble.

 

It doesn't mean he has to like it.

 

Bucky drags his feet on the walk to Steve's office. The door is open when he gets there, Steve behind his desk, with Phil sitting on the corner. They're deep in discussion with one another, so Bucky knocks gently on the doorframe to get their attention.

 

"Bucky, come in, and shut the door behind you." Steve half-rises politely, gesturing to the chair opposite them both.

 

He's horribly reminded of his interview for a moment.

 

With that in mind, Bucky treads carefully, making sure he gets to the chair and seated without incident.

 

"You wanted to see me?" he asks, the horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach telling him exactly why he's there.

 

Phil and Steve glance at each other briefly, before Phil interlaces his fingers on his knee. "We understand you've had a call from Nick Fury today."

 

And yeah, that gross, heavy feeling was right. Fucking wonderful.

 

"How did you know?" Bucky asks with resignation. There's no point in denying it.

 

"Darcy put the call through to you," Steve supplies. "Nick is memorable enough that she thought it was incredibly odd he was calling."

 

"I also heard a segment of your conversation back in the bullpen," Phil says, looking apologetic. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but that coupled with who was calling, it lead me to a few conclusions. I'm hoping maybe you can clear them up for us."

 

Bucky doesn't feel scared or sick or worried anymore, his bad luck just seems inevitable.

 

"I've never been in direct contact with him before," Bucky insists. "This is the first time I've ever spoken to him properly." His eyes flick to Steve, who is sitting quietly, fingers steepled in front of his mouth. "I was given his contact information a short time ago, but Steve can vouch for me, I discarded it."

 

"And why did you do that?" Phil asks.

 

Bucky shrugs. "Didn't seem to be a point. I don't work for Macy's anymore, and I'm happy here."

 

"He _did_ throw the business card away," Steve confirms, inclining his head towards Phil.

 

Bucky sits stiffly in the chair. "I'm sorry if... if I've done something wrong. I wasn't going to contact him, and I just got a call. I didn't know who it was when I picked up, and--"

 

"Relax, Bucky," Steve placates, before he can run off at the mouth too much. "You're not in trouble for receiving a call, that's beyond your control." Steve and Phil both have this earnest thing going on, and Bucky, God help him, believes them.

 

"Okay... okay," he exhales slowly. "But if I'm not in trouble... why _am_ I here?"

 

Phil uncrosses his legs and leans toward him a little. "Am I to understand you've been made an offer?"

 

He could lie, he could say that there was some final paperwork that had been neglected, or outstanding wages. But aside from the fact that he's beyond shitty at lying on the spot like this, Steve would know it's not true in a heartbeat. Because Bucky would've _told him this shit_ if it were.

 

"Yes," he says softly.

 

Phil's eyes narrow, and he looks to Steve, oddly triumphant. "Didn't I tell you? He's been feeling around, trying to poach a few people from our department."

 

"Mmm," Steve confirms, brow furrowing deeply. "You did," he says, and Bucky isn't imagining that Steve sounds _pissed._ "The guy just doesn't know when to let up, and he's not above sneaking around to try and make it happen."

 

Steve then turns to look unblinkingly at Bucky, and it's so fucking unfair that his big boss is also his boyfriend, because he doesn't know how to deal with this situation. "What we're really interested in here now, Bucky, is what kind of offer Nick made to you. Specifically, how much better it is than the terms of your current contract."

 

Bucky breaks eye contact, and stares at the corner of Steve's desk far too intently. What does he say? Is this an interrogation? A negotiation? He's already stricken reprimand off the list, so what else could they possibly want from him?

 

And why does it have to be _Steve_ doing the asking?

 

Because if anything, he's hardwired to tell Steve the truth, even if it's what an asshole his boyfriend's being.

 

 _Especially_ that, though that tends to be more on the personal front rather than professional. And a joke.

 

"It's better," he confirms in a soft voice, that grows in volume as he speaks. "Leading my own small team, better benefits and insurance, more paid time off, payrise--"

 

"How much?" Phil queries.

 

"--he didn't say," Bucky answers. "Only to say that it'd be more than what I make now." Bucky pauses, and neither Phil nor Steve speak. "He wanted to schedule a meeting to discuss things further."

 

"I knew it!" Phil exclaims, looking to Steve. Steve, however, is staring at Bucky, brow slightly furrowed.

 

"Are you planning on meeting him?" Steve asks softly.

 

"I ah... I panicked and told him I'd call him back... and hung up."

 

A little of the furrow leaves Steve's brow. He looks at Phil, and Bucky gets the impression they're communicating telepathically. Either that, or they're blinking Morse code messages at one another.

 

After a moment, Steve turns back to Bucky. "Bucky, do you think you could give us a couple of minutes to discuss this? I promise we'll bring you right back in, don't wander too far, we just need a moment or two."

 

"Sure," Bucky says, pushing himself out of the chair, because really, what else is he going to say?

 

He leaves Steve's office and shuts the door behind him. Bucky worries a track in the corridor carpet, chewing on a hangnail, still not entirely convinced he's not in trouble. Some other Nordstroms employees pass him and give some wicked side-eye, but thankfully he's far enough away from the bullpen that nobody he knows well walks by, and decides to quiz him on his nervous behaviour.

 

After five nerve-wracking minutes -- which feel more like twenty years -- Steve's door opens, and Phil pops his head out.

 

"Come on in, Bucky," he says, before disappearing back inside.

 

Bucky is an adult, he will not throw up.

 

Instead, he shuffles down the hall and back to the office, slipping into the chair across from Steve's desk once again. Phil resumes his place on the corner. Steve's got his fingers interlaced in front of him. Neither of them look upset, but nor are they giving anything away.

 

"February isn't normally a time when we look at wages, purely because the department's allocation is generally fairly tightly-planned," Phil explains, "at least until the end of the financial year."

 

"O-kay?" Bucky says, confused as to why they're discussing wages.

 

"What it means, is that we couldn't offer you a raise _now_ , but there is wiggle room for paid vacation days, which you wouldn't have been eligible for yet, given you've only been with us for six months."

 

Talk of raises and paid vacation days is really doing Bucky's head in. He looks from Phil to Steve. "I'm sorry, what are we talking about?"

 

"What Phil's trying to say," Steve says with a small smile in his colleague's direction, "is that we'd like to present a counter-offer to Nick Fury's."

 

Bucky's jaw swings wide open. "A counter offer," he states.

 

"Yes. You're a good fit for our team, and we're not prepared to lose a valued employee to our competitor, if there's a way we can retain you."

 

"I never said I was taking him up on his offer," Bucky says slowly, fingers clasped together. It might not be the best negotiation strategy, but it is the truth.

 

"That's true," Phil muses, shrugging, "but we also don't want you tempted away from us for a better offer on paper."

 

Bucky sits quietly for a few moments, grateful for some time to put his thoughts together. "So you can't offer a raise, but you can do extra vacation days?"

 

"We can't offer a raise _yet_ ," Steve corrects. "You've been working incredibly hard over these last months, and if you keep going in this direction, odds are your salary would be up for review in September, before the new fiscal year."

 

"Would you be willing to put that into writing?" Bucky asks pointedly.

 

Because here's the thing. Bucky's been promised perks before, he's been promised benefits and credit and advancement for his work, only to never receive one goddamn thing. He's worked like a donkey with a carrot dangling in front of his face, and he's never gotten that fucking carrot, and it's not fair. And it's not that he doesn't trust Steve or Phil, it's that it might be beyond their control at the end of the day to keep what they've promised.

 

And if they hesitate on this point, maybe it's just another carrot, too.

 

To Bucky's surprise and pleasure, Steve nods immediately. "Provided you are documented through the remainder of the year to hold the consistently high standard you've already set for yourself, I will write it into your yearly review that you're to receive a guaranteed salary increase come October First." Steve cocks his head to the side slightly. "Say, fifteen percent?"

 

Fifteen... Don't hyperventilate, Bucky. That's not cool in negotiations.

 

"I don't think you'll have trouble with maintaining your standard," Phil adds cheerfully. "You've done an outstanding job so far. As to the leadership role you've been offered..." He taps his curled index finger on his lips. "While at this time there's no comparative position to offer you, and to be honest, I think you'd need a bit more experience first--"

 

"I know I don't have that, and I wasn't asking fo--" Bucky starts, but is cut off.

 

"--I'd like to see you _get_ that experience while you're in my team."

 

Bucky blinks. "Really?"

 

"Yes," Phil answers. "You know Natasha takes the reins when I'm not around... well, I'd like to see you work with her more closely. Because when she goes on vacation in June, I want _you_ to take point on our interstate jobs. We like to promote from within. Steve is a prime example, and he got to where he is now by being spotted early on as someone with excellent prospects, and mentored."

 

Bucky exhales loudly. "I'm-- I don't know what to say," he murmurs.

 

"Fury's right about one thing; you have great potential for advancement," Steve says. "Thing of it is, it's his bad luck he didn't see it when you were still part of his company. We are _not_ looking to make that same mistake."

 

Bucky nods dumbly.

 

Steve spreads his hands out wide. "We appreciate how much of yourself you've given to the company already, and your upfront honesty with regards to your dealings with Fury. I know this is a lot to consider, so you can take some time to--"

 

"I accept," Bucky interrupts, derailing Steve.

 

He raises one eyebrow. "Not that that's not the answer I want, but are you sure you don't want more time to consider?"

 

Bucky shakes his head slowly. "What you're offering is comparable, and generous," he begins deliberately, "and while there might be a short-term advancement with him, I'd rather build my knowledge base first." He gives both Steve and Phil a genuine smile. "I've learnt so much already, but I know there's so much _more_... I really like my team, and want to keep working with them." He gives a self-effacing shrug. "I also want to keep working for the company and the people that have shown me loyalty and support from the moment I started."

 

Bucky gives cautious, one-shouldered shrug. "My dad always taught me that hard work would be noticed and rewarded." He gives a little smile. "Here it is."

 

Phil looks suitably impressed and glances to Steve, who nods, pleased. He and Phil both rise, and Bucky automatically rises out of his chair, too. Steve reaches across the desk with his hand outstretched, and Bucky takes it. "Well, it seems we have a deal," he smiles, and Bucky can't help the big grin he shoots back.

 

Phil pumps his hand cheerfully. "Glad to hear it," he says. "I'm going to draw up the paperwork for the new terms now, and email you and the necessary parties before the end of the day. You can read through and make sure it's all accurate to what we've discussed."

 

"Okay," Bucky says, almost feeling a little lightheaded.

 

With a friendly slap to the back of his shoulder, Phil leaves Steve's office, shutting the door behind him.

 

Bucky collapses back into his chair, putting his hands to his cheeks. "What," he asks slowly, "the fuck just happened?"

 

Steve walks around to lean against the front of his desk, directly opposite Bucky. "Looks like you just successfully negotiated a raise and perks," he answers cheerfully, and automatically Bucky can hear the minor difference in his voice. The switch from 'colleague' to 'boyfriend' has been toggled.

 

"Bullshit," Bucky scoffs, "I didn't do anything, it was thrown at me!"

 

"Not without due cause," Steve responds. "If you weren't valuable to the team, we wouldn't have bothered." He pauses for a moment before continuing. "Not that I want this company to lose you, but if you did get a genuinely better offer from somewhere and decided to leave... I'd support that."

 

"I know," Bucky says with a small curve of his lips, before letting out a world-weary sigh.

 

He runs his fingers through his hair, the year suddenly unfolding slightly differently from what he'd planned. "I guess I have to figure out what I'm going to do with my extra vacation days, then. I hadn't really planned on taking anything substantial until maybe next year," Bucky muses.

 

Steve shrugs and crosses his ankles. "I happen to know a guy who's going to Europe in May and could still use a translator..." he says deliberately.

 

Arching one eyebrow, Bucky looks up at him. "I thought you said you could get by with a big smile and a guidebook?" he queries.

 

"Maybe I want to ask my hot boyfriend who can speak the language if he wants to come.., seeing as he suddenly finds himself with extra time off."

 

The thought of taking a vacation to Eastern Europe with Steve in three months is beyond tempting, and would make up for so many shitty things that happened to him last year. "You really want me to go?" he queries. He remembers it coming up as a tongue-in-cheek comment on their first date. He never expected it to seriously be on the table.

 

"Yes!" Steve nods enthusiastically, before giving pause. "Unless you think it's too early for an overseas trip...? I wouldn't want it to be weird for you."

 

By the time they hit May, they'll have been dating for nearly nine months. That seems to be a not-unreasonable amount of time to be together before they take a vacation together."

 

He gives Steve a slow-molasses smile. "I wouldn't be weirded out." His grin grows, and he stands. "As long as you realise if I go with you, I will need to visit my grandparents, and you will have to come, or they will guilt me into an early grave."

 

For some reason, the thought of being interrogated by Bucky's tiny, Russian babushka has Steve grinning like a fool. Oh, how little he knows.

 

"Sounds good," Steve says, stepping forward to be within touching distance.

 

Bucky takes a quick look at the office door to make sure it's shut before he slides his arms up and around Steve's neck. "Okay, so throw out your phrase book, just call me translate-dot-google-dot-com."

 

Steve screws up his nose. "Uhhhh..."

 

"In my head it sounded sexier," Bucky sighs, shaking his head and dropping his chin to his chest.

 

"Don't lie, it did not."

 

Bucky can't help the grin, and lifts his head so Steve can see it. "No,

it really didn't."

 

Steve's hands rest lightly on Bucky's waist. "And yet you said it anyway," he bemoans.

 

"Have you _met_ me? I suffer from terminal foot in mouth disease."

 

"I'll keep you anyway," Steve says, pressing a short kiss to Bucky's smiling lips.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not ruling it out, but as it stands, this is the final chapter of this fic. I have to finish the coda to Cause & Effect, and keep going with FtF. Meanwhile, if anyone who's just read this read and left a comment on FtF, thank you SO much. I was overwhelmed with really beautiful and thoughtful comments, and I had to make myself promise to reply to all of them before I could post this, so I wouldn't get bogged down! It was sincerely amazing, thank you. 
> 
> On that topic, if you felt like shooting me a comment about this, y'know I'm gonna love it. :) Thanks again for your support, stucky fandom. Y'all rock.


End file.
